If I Were Honest
by KaylaMartinC
Summary: In a rash decision, Severus Snape finds himself obligated to Hermionie Granger.
1. Chapter 1

The turn of events was more than a slight annoyance. It would take her days to recover from what happened and years to forget. He cradled her arm against his chest and dragged the tip of his wand lightly against her jacket muttering the incantations that would heal her. She was only slightly aware and it made it easier to work and attempt to comprehend in silence.

"Lie down." He whispered. She couldn't hear him. But he rested her on the cool hard dirt anyway. There was very little else he could do for her. Unwrapping his cloak and resting it on her, he sat against the tree and allowed her the comfort of his warm leg against her face.

"Dammit all." He snarled.

It was hours after the attack. A small band of wizards that had taken refuge together on the outskirts of his estate were disbanded by a sharp tongued and bad intentioned group of snatchers. They were seeking out men and women just like her to offer up for a monetary reward. Men and women who were running away from the law for their freedom. One strongly mannered snatcher, the kind he had seen before many times caught her and shook the girl from the ground like she was some kind of encased meat. He chilled at the remembrance.

Between the wand waving and the flashes, the explosions and deaths, the band broke up. Some he knew were dead. He tripped over the body of a fair haired student from Ravenclaw he had taught a few years ago.

Some had been snatched, Probably sitting on the marble floors of the cavernous foyer at the Ministry right now. Kingsley Shacklebolt the now appointed Minister of Magic had proven to rule with an unforeseeable and stifling if not as dangerous iron grip as Voldemort. The power had short circuited to his head in only a matter of months and the illegalities of forced marriages and broken families did little to persuade him of its effects.

Severus Snape had fought between two of the most prominent if infamous wizards in perhaps all alongside him constantly, Shacklebolt always seemed to him, normal. Demanding in presence but always reassured and confident in the good. When the Ministry fell ruin to the Death Eaters, Shacklebolt worked from the inside, shovelling information, just as Snape had, to the outside world. When the Ministry fell again after that fateful battle at the school, Shacklebolt seemed to both the voting constituencies of Britain and the Order, to be the right and deserving candidate for the role of Minister.

He was a good-intentioned tyrant. His belief that wizarding worlds would follow his ingenious realizations about the dwindling population and growing death rates of wizards during the battles against Voldemort had led him to believe in necessary actions. The admitting number of students at Hogwarts every year had succumbed to almost everything. Fewer muggles were realizing their potential as magical beings and the Ministry was doing an even more pitiful job of detecting these muggles. Shacklebolt's solution was to demand marriage and procreation between magic holders of certain ages. The law failed of course. The recognition and sheer fatigue of having a megalomaniac in their midst had created an undying spark of resistance in the people of Britain. Shacklebolt lay to rest the issue for a year before bringing it about in a way few people could deny.

The penalty of refusal was equivalent to a lifetime in Azkaban. The cause and support of the Wizarding Nation was more important than the frivolities of public consensus. He had stood, where every minister before him had stood, his giant form a different kind of demanding. The dangerous gleam in his eye, Snape had seen in so many men was now in his.

"We do not say you have lost the right to choose." His voice was cold, calculated now. "We only ask that you do what is right for our world."

The measures taken were extreme. Shacklebolt knew he had to make examples of people to make fear. Ministry officials started to disappear first. Prominent political figures and war heroes. People who had fought along side him in the war, holders of Merlin First Class vanished as if completely. It was only after a series of executions by Dementor Kiss that those targeted by the law took in to consideration leaving. Political agreement among the neighbouring countries was pulled together and a governmental track was put on all apparitions in and out of the Country.

Those who left were forced to live magic-less in the outskirts of towns and cities like paupers. Forming bands, as the one Hermionie had joined, proved to be if not comforting, then at least practical. Most of the people close to her age had agreed to be bound in marriage for the sake of comfort. They had all been through so much, that particular generation. Snape's generation were mostly already married or easily conceded as well, unsure if they could or really wanted to deal with the repercussions otherwise.

She groaned and pressed her face against the warmth of his leg.

He was traveling on his own. It was unintentional that he managed upon them in the moment they needed him. He had enough money to support the ministry and his own reprieve. He was a free man now. That, Shacklebolt had conceded on. Serverus Snape for once, had been of little consequence and bought himself out with the considerable fortune Duumbledore and he had acquired. The grove in which all this happened was only a small part of his estate in the South of Ireland. The wards were down in anticipation of his arrival and the band must have stumbled through them.

He had used much of his magic during the fight and he felt weak and depleted. Not as young as he thought himself, he pressed the back of his head against the tree and breathed in deeply. Bugger all to hell. What was he to do with her now? It had never occurred to him to leave her, she was obviously with a group of people because she needed them. She wouldn't last very long on her own without magic. He thought perhaps he could give her an unregistered wand and allow her to leave that way. Already he was sure the ministry had noticed all the illegal wand waving from before and he didn't have much more time before someone came to investigate.

He heaved himself from the ground and picked her up in his arms. The coat made her heavy and his exhaustion seemed insurmountable. In a thundering crash, he disapparated and the grove was finally ridded of its intruders.


	2. Chapter 2

Shacklebolt came himself. The density and nature of the magic set alarms throughout the Ministry and the severity confirmed when the snatchers arrived with their bounty.

He wore black now and had given in his colourful garb for something more serious. Severus truly believed it suited him.

Shacklebolt admired the surrounding land around him from the cresting windows. He liked vacationing at Severus' estate. The two had always been friends and to be honest Severus had always regarded Shacklebolt has a sturdy man. Apart from all this Marriage toddle. They had a high regard for one another and both truly enjoyed the other's company.

Severus walked in to his study as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. He was exhausted. After depositing Hermionie in to his room and leaving her under the care of his elf, he received a foretold message of the Minister's arrival.

"Hello King." He said, silently offering his friend a seat and a drink. "What brings you here?"

Shacklebolt took the whiskey and laughed. "Some Ministry business." Severus pretended to look surprised. "There was a little scruffle on your property not an hour ago Severus. Some snatchers came across an illegal band of Opps."

"How seemingly unlikely." He drawled and peered out the window as if the fight was still happening. "Have you searched the grounds?"

"I'm having the dead removed from your lawn." Shacklebolt chuckled and downed his whiskey at once. "I guess it was sheer luck they stumbled upon your estate."

He knew that to be true. If Shacklebolt had his suspicions about Severus Snape, they would have been made known. He did not scuttle around things anymore.

"You look like shit." No more scuttling.

"I'm truthfully very exhausted. My travels have caught up with me. I'm no longer as youthful as you remember me." Shacklebolt laughed and poured himself one more for the road.

"You were never young. If you find any hiding, floo me."

"I will." Severus promised. Shacklebolt bowed with respect, downed his tumbler and passed through the fire place engulfed in blue flame.

"Bollocks." He whispered "Damn, damn, damn." In this short encounter he made himself perceptible. Why lie for the damn chit? The marriage laws had always rubbed him the wrong way but they were affectless to him. Hundreds of young children, you taught he reminded himself, are running around in crisis. There had to be something wrong with it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. The agony in keeping them open was answered with sweet release. He promptly fell asleep beside the fire and forgot about the entire evening.

She was sobbing uncontrollably. The house elf looking alarmed, gratefully scattered away and vanished upon his master's return without a word.

"Damn." He muttered.

The healing of her physical wounds was of little consequence. The elf had done an admirable job with that. Her sobbing was quite another thing however, urging his migraine to unprecedented measures. Tangled up in the sheets and hardly aware of her own presence, the girl was inconsolable.

"Miss Granger."

He conjured a glass of water and added a calming draught for good measure. It did a hefty job and she sat up right in the sheets staring at him blankly as the tears dried on her face.

"Better."

He knew little of the decorum in such a situation. So he cleared his throat, attempting to assert some kind of authority.

"Where am I?" she asked quietly. "And why are you here?" the draught did nothing to hide her confused derision.

"There's little reason to take such a tone Miss Granger. You're in my home, in my bedroom. I'll have you recall the snatchers last night."

"What happened to everyone?"

In a world seemingly made superior with magic, death was a rampant component of conversation.

He gave her a look, a look begging her to understand. She did but he had taken away her right to cry with the draught. Thankfully. Instead she lay back on the bed and pushed her head in to his pillows.

"Miss Granger?"

"I have to find them."

"That is unwise." He drawled out and took the water glass from her limp hand. "The Minister of Magic has been here only hours ago. He knows what has happened and he is prepared to punish all those involved."

"But my friends." She said dispassionately.

"Are out of your help. I implore you to remain here only for a while to maintain your health and then you may do as you please." He couldn't understand himself. Prolong her stay? For what purpose? If she was determined to get captured or killed it was her just prerogative. But something bothered at him, something only a good teacher would understand. He cared for her wellbeing just as he did when he became part of their fight last night. He cared for the young blond Ravenclaw he saw dead in the dirt and all those others who died or were captured. It was inevitable.

Her gaze was deadpan. It was unnerving. The draught was a strong one, one of the stronger ones he was in possession of but it was troubling to see its effects so justly portrayed. She rested her hands over the duvet as she looked at the ceiling and sighed.

"Alright Professor."

She had silently dismissed him. As he stood there, in his own bedroom with nothing left to say, Hermionie Granger had dismissed him.

Bugger the chit.

He left the room to allow her, her brooding. If there was one thing he disliked most it was a self-pitying victimization of oneself.

He poured himself a drink and directed the elves to move the girl to another room. It made him uncomfortable to see her pushing against his pillows. It was inappropriate in any circumstance. He pressed his fingers around the beaked nose of his person and told himself that the easiest way around this was to let her recuperate and let her go. Of all his dealings with Potter and Weasley, he had never dealt much with the girl even in school.

He remembered quite definitely seeing her peer over her friend's shoulder as Potter took his memories from him in the Shrieking Shack and once more at the Hogwarts re-dedication and instatement of McGonagall as headmistress. Other than those two patience pressing events, she had been quite absent from his peripheral. The concern of Dumbledore for Harry Potter's life had never extended past him and the survival of his friends was mere coincidence partly aided by their own skill and ability.

She had felt scant and over wrought in his arms. Lone survival hadn't done much for her. It was one of the things urging him to keep her here if only for a little while. He could send her out fooling himself at least that she could survive.

"Master Snape is knowing Miss is sleeping in another room." His superior house elf reported.

"Thank you Tobbi." Snape muttered, wondering which room she was in now.


	3. Chapter 3

The days went by as they usually did, much to Severus's comfort. The effects of the calming draught had worn away but Hermionie Granger had proven herself not a burden at all. She kept most regularly to her room, wherever that was, and took her meals in its confines. It was an undecided event when she would leave and he wasn't entirely sure she hadn't gone already if not for the reports of his elves.

He had been relinquished to a quiet retirement, one everyone including himself, agreed he deserved. In his days, he most often read or busied himself with freelance potion making for wizarding companies or hospitals. The potions were easy though and most often finished before he could really feel inspired. It was four days in to her arrival in to his home that the peace he was attempting to restore was once again debauched.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay Professor." She said as she pulled her cloak around herself. She looked worse than before! She walked in to his study with an air of death. The circles around her eyes were deep and cutting and her hair looked even thinner than a few days earlier. She was trying to restrain the shivering that was imminently seeping past her lips and her fingers loosely held on to the straps of her back pack.

"Miss Granger." He needed a tactic. "Take a seat."

She looked wearily at the chair he was gesturing at. "It's the least you can do." She accepted this and sat at the edge of her seat ready to bound away at a moment's notice.

"You look terrible." He stated honestly.

"I'm a lot better." She said quietly.

"I'd like you to stay longer-"

"Oh please sir!" she pleaded. "I'm much better. I'll be fine to go on my own." She was being rather childish about it all. She was after all, only a child, he reminded himself.

"Never-the-less, it would be irresponsible of me to-"

His words were lost in a poof of ash and blue flame. There were few times Severus Snape was left unprepared or uncertain. He was rarely surprised – it had been his job to know exactly what was happening and when. As a result, it served him no great purpose to account that it had left him utterly speechless when Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of his fireplace unannounced looking straight at the girl in the arm chair.

Shacklebolt stared with a comprehension that was more informed than Snape felt comfortable with. Granger stared with a fear that was as damning as her presence. With a numbness that finally conquered, she let her back pack fall to the floor with a thump and she froze on the edge of the seat. Kingsley looked from Hermionie quickly to Severus who tried to think of a logical reason why this young criminal was in his room. Granger had been one of the more outspoken individuals during the tyranny and no one was sure where she was. Until now.

""Hello King." He said calmly. The best decision was to pretend like nothing was amiss. "What brings you here?"

"What is this?" he gestured. He was affronted automatically now. A skill he had been working on.

"What?"

Damn. She was going to be no help. She already looked close to collapse.

"I'll have to take you in Granger." Shacklebolt stated. It was a little discomforting to see the lack of acknowledgment in his eyes. A fellow Order member, a colleague, a child.

Hermionie started to protest with a look of panic in her eyes when Severus sat down and casually crossed his legs.

"I can't let you do that King." He drawled.

There was a static silence as Shacklebolt tried to understand the situation. Before he could think about the implications of his idea, the words were out from behind his thin lips.

"She is my fiancé, surely that is worth some respite."

Hermionie bowed her head as Shacklebolt looked sharply at the girl and then his friend.

"You never told me Severus."

"I had hoped to make it a surprise announcement. With as little posh and circumstance as possible. She was afterall a very prominent Opp, I worried for her safety." He stood up and petted the thin head of hair on the girl. "She has also been suffering quite extensively from illness and the excitement would have been overpowering right now."

Shacklebolt bought the news with blind joy. If Hermionie Granger had finally buckled down and accepted his law, one of his biggest opponents, there was hope for all the other Opps.

"Rest." He said to Hermionie, the newest extension of his household. The relief of her reprieve was too strong to match his regret.

Without a word or a question, Hermionie excused herself and trudged back up the stairs, leaving her back pack by the vacated chair.

"When did this all start?" Kingsley sat down and took out a cigar. Severus handed him his lighter and prepared for a long fabricated conversation.

"Our engagement has only been for a few weeks now. I found her only months ago during my travels and rescued her, promising to take her as my wife." Shacklebolt looked relieved, as if his hand would not be forced now to punish the girl. Severus felt a heavy weight pushing down his stomach. "She doesn't want to oppose the law anymore. She wants a husband and the comfort in normalcy."

"And you want a young witch to warm your bed." Shacklebolt chuckled and pulled on his cigar.

"Truly, any man would."

They spent a good amount of time chatting. After a few cigars and a number of brandies, the severity of the situation had been alleviated and the consequences were put to rest until tomorrow. In the light haze of his drunkenness, the decision he had made, though split, seemed to be more promising than what he had been faced with only moments before Shacklebolt's arrival.

Stumbling out of his shoes and falling in to bed in his pressed shirt, he imagined her beside him, married and content. He imagined all the ways she could and would depend on him and the thought was endearing. It was a reality he created for himself in those small moments, unattached in any way to the girl and having entirely to do with the loneliness he had acquired when faced with retirement.


	4. Chapter 4

He visited her in the early afternoon. It was a necessity.

The third knock urged her quiet call and the door was opened to him by Tobbi who was treating her with his store of potions. She was hell and fire all in one. She glared menacingly at him as he walked calmly in to the room and deposited himself in the bed side chair. Without any introduction, she presented to him the kind of witch she really was, the witch he had never taken the chance to know.

"How dare you!" She croaked out. She was entirely too sickly for this but he crossed his legs and entertained it. "What were you thinking?"

"I had to think of a reason to explain your presence in my house without getting us both arrested. Would it have been simpler of me to tell him I found you wandering around my estate?"

"You should have never brought me here!" she rasped.

"I beg your pardon?"

It was a provocation and they both knew it. The fact that it was so easy to goad her only encouraged him. There was an easy way to understand this all, because the real repercussions still had not sat with him. He did not understand he made a public announcement to wed this woman, and in the reality, there was nothing to worry about. In truth, there was only one way out of jail, and it was to marry the girl. She already saw this as the one burdened by the plan, not the one basking in his own quick wit and improvising skill.

She looked defeated though, which was why she trudged back up the stairs yesterday without a word. In truth, she was very ill and so tired of running and worrying about the future. She folded her hands discontentedly and finally waited for orders. Hermionie Granger was never one to follow but now, she felt no other option and it felt admissible to finally fall in to the instruction of another.

"What did you tell him?"

"I said we've been engaged for a few weeks only, that your illness and reputation kept us from announcing too early our intentions."

She looked shy all of a sudden, really aware that the man who sat in front of her was her potions professor. Shy and uncertain.

"When would it happen then?"

He was uncomfortable finally with it all, with her submission and handed her another dose of water and fever potion. She took it and drank it in its entirety.

"I'll send the elves to you at once. I'll check on you tonight to see how you've progressed. Try to rest Miss Granger."

His pause was pregnant, on the cusp of pushing her out the door and binding her forever to this bed, he rested on the decision to sneer and leave her unbound.

The insolent chit! Damnable. Her easy acceptance was making this all the more real. The Minister of Magic believed he was wilfully engaged to Hermionie, hadn't batted an eye and expressed the utmost support of the situation as a friend and as a political figure head. If he went back on his word, made up a story, it was Hermionie who would be in crisis, in plain sight now. He could, if he wanted. But it had been his lie to tell, separate from her.

Of course, he had witnessed more than one marriage of convenience. The thought made him sick to his stomach to imagine the girl in her marriage bed. She was a child! But it didn't mean they would be so put out by the arrangement. His home was large, large enough that they did not have to see each other, as already proven. She'd have access to the wizarding world again, all the opportunities she had to give up being an Opp. She would be able to use her magic immediately. It would be a small price to pay to hand her back her rights.

And what of it? He was a man. A gentleman always but he still wanted for the things men want. It would be comfortable knowing she was here, anywhere shielding him from the loneliness that came with the segregation of retirement. Kingsley must have informed the entire Ministry by now and then some of the fall of his biggest adversary. This would be no quiet matter and neither would their separation if it were to materialize.

He wanted nothing more than to tear himself from his skin. The angsty suppression of the undecided pressed upon him as he paced his study. Kingsley would be expecting a ceremony now, a legal and binding contract.

"Congratulations my Dear Friend." A note fresh from the Minister's Stationary. There was something threatening about the cursive. As if Kingsley Shacklebolt knew somehow that it was all a sham that would fall through at any moment. He put the note on his desk and stepped out for his errands. He needed some kind of distraction from the predicament he put himself in.

The elves that lived on his estate had come with the property. It was impossible to free them. They had been bound to the house hundreds of years ago, before he had ever stepped foot on the land. For that, they often times expressed a stronger loyalty to the grounds and the caretaking of the house than to Severus and had to remind themselves they served a master now.

They cared for Miss Granger in the same way, neglecting her sometimes for their more menial yet integral tasks of raking leaves and clearing out gutters. They took a pride in the house that Severus was indifferent to but appreciated in his rare moments. Taking issue greatly with their characteristic neglect, he would often check up on her to make sure she had what she needed. Most of the time she was asleep. The fireplace crackled nosily beside her and lit her gaunt face with shadows. Very rarely did he catch her awake, which might have been his own planning.

One particularly dreary day when winter had finally reared its ugly horns, he found the girl walking shakily around her room. When he knocked and was bided entrance, she seemed uncertain and nearly cried when he saw her. It was hallowing to a degree that neither knew what to say.

"Come." He said as gently as he could and gestured towards the bed. She looked down at her bare feet in answer and he gently cupped her shoulder. "Miss Granger you are still ill."

It seemed enough to bring her back to reality.

"Professor." Her voice was barely a sickly whisper. Her shoulder, even covered in the fabric of her nightgown was scalding. She crouched over herself protectively, shielding herself but not strong enough anymore to stand on her own. Her hair was a matted nest of knots and tangles and she had the smell of a child who had not been bathed for days. It was not hard to conclude the house elves had been sparing her little attention. He gently pushed her to the bed but she was unprepared and fell against him with a cry of dismay.

"Miss Granger, please!" he huffed, pulling her back up. She was sweating and exhausted. "Tobbi!" he yelled. Within seconds the fat house elf was beside him with leaves stuck to his rags.

"Yes Sir?"

"Help me get Miss Granger to the washroom." He demanded. "Why have you not been tending to her?"

"Miss doesn't be asking for anything Master. She be sleeping all day. " Tobbi clicked his fingers and the girl became as light as a feather as she levitated towards the bathroom.

"Tobbi, I expect you to anticipate without words" he growled. Damn!

He set her down on the stool in front of the vanity.

He tapped his hands against his thighs as he stooped in front of her barely conscious person. "Tobbi! Get me a cold cloth now!"

The house elf, looking very affronted immediately conjured a cloth damp and cold. Severus placed it gently against her eyes and forehead and she hummed in relief. He refreshed the cloth constantly and caressed her hot skin with it, on her arms, over and inside her thighs, carefully over the plain of her back and across her neck. Though her eyes were no longer open and she was barely aware of him, she already seemed more content

She slumped against him again, unawares and he took the opportunity to lift the heavy mane of her hair off her back. It was instinctual as he had never taken care of someone in this way before or felt depended on like this. He picked her up without levitation and settled her on the bed.

"You are not to tend to the house until Miss Granger is better Tobbi."

The elf gave him a pained look but said nothing. "You will make sure she has everything she needs."

"Tobbi!" he growled and the house elf cowered. "Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir."

He felt an itchy resistance leaving her. He wasn't prepared to find her worse but less prepared to find out it was due in part to the neglect of his house staff. He checked on her more often after that between business phone calls and social meetings. He gave her the medicines himself learning the easiest ways to feed it to her and the gentle nuances that gave her some relief. He had never been a very practiced man in the art of gentle intimacies and it took a bit of forethought now but she grew better and better every day thanks to his developed knowledge of health and medicine.

When she was coherent enough, he brought her things to amuse herself with. With the promise that she would neither over excite nor exert herself, Hermionie started reading giant tomes of potion practice and history. She regarded him with limited consciousness, attempting to reconcile this new role she played in his life and the unwilling intimacies he now shared with her in her sickness. She would avert her eyes when he checked for fever, remained frigid when he applied presses or helped her out of bed and took on the challenge of administering her own medicines and draughts now. It was clear how uncomfortable she was with his presence, and the impending conversation of their engagement loomed over their heads like a heavy stone.

He was after all, still her teacher, the same demanding man who offered her no reprieves in the classroom and for him to see her like this, in her weakened and vulnerable state, put her in crisis. He acted as a man who had fathered her would have. He was careful but ignored certain boundaries that life blood was given permission to ignore. He acted naturally, kind, patient and frequent. He willed her good health as he would his own.

One quiet evening when he poked his head through the door frame to see how she was fairing, she called out to him with trepidation. He was surprised to say the least. Dressed in his formal robes and headed out for the night to a Ministry event, he was unprepared for a conversation, especially entreated by the girl.

"Yes Miss Granger?" he pulled himself through the frame and stood there expectantly.

"Where will you be tonight?"

She asked as if she minded his absence but the fear of him and made her take on a tone different from her intentions.

"I will be out tonight at an obligatory ministry event if that is agreeable Miss Granger."

Her eyes hardened as he mentioned his associations.

"I thought we might talk Professor." She put the rather large tome he had given her to read, upon her lap and rested her folded hands on it.

Blast.

"I mean, I feel a lot better now, I was just wondering when we would talk about," she blushed. He had all but forgotten about their predicament but it seemed like it had been weighing heavily on her mind since she had become coherent enough to worry. He straightened the lapels of his suit and huffed.

"Perhaps tomorrow."

She looked relieved and disappointed, as if she had been planning her escape for some time now but did not want to have the awkward conversation that would guarantee her release. She had done her part now, to remind him of the necessity for the conversation and it was out of her hands now.

"Yes Sir."

"Good night Miss Granger."

The atmosphere at the Ministry event was different. It was his first public appearance since his forced announcement to Kingsley about his engagement and the crowds of people swarmed around him to congratulate and question the validity of this claim.

It was not uncommon for wealthy older men to take young witches as wives, now that the law was so strictly in place. It was not this that people were questioning. In fact, it was very common for older wizards to coerce young witches to marry them and it had become a sort of game among the elite to conquer the youngest and prettiest. Severus Snape, however much older he was than Hermionie Granger had been offered a reprieve from the Minister himself, unobligated to take on a wife and it was this that called in to question his intentions.

Shacklebolt intervened when he could, poking and prodding his way through countless conversations on the matter whether they were engaged with Snape or about Snape. The fear that Severus himself might realize how out of character he was acting, propelled his friend and political ally to his defense.

The biggest adversary of the night had been McGonogall. The instalment as headmistress had done nothing to lessen the sharpness and bluntness of her tongue and she regarded her retired colleague with blatant disbelief.

"Miss Granger?"

Now he felt like a criminal.

"Yes Minerva. Hermionie Granger." He stood tall as he fuelled this fire. He would only make things harder if they did decide to go separate ways, but here and now was not the time to be honest with everyone. Minerva McGonogall regarded him over her spectacles. She had never fully trusted him, especially because he acted the part of depraved Headmaster so well. And now, the flair of mistrust sparked in her flitching smile and her cold eyes.

"You've never expressed one ounce of interest in the girl Severus. I find it hard to believe all of a sudden you've found love in your past student."

"Who said anything about love?" he drawled as he took a flute of champagne. "Look around. Do you see any marriages of love?"

When he returned home, he was more in the thick of his lies than when he had left. The girl was sleeping with the book in her lap, just as when he left her and so he retired with little fuss. They would have to talk tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

He avoided her room for the good part of the day. He told himself there were more pressing matters – brewing her medicinal potions and skimming over the Daily Prophet for instance. But as late afternoon lethargy overtook him, he knew it was only making the situation worse by putting it off. If she was going to leave, she was in a much better condition to do so, and why prolong it any further? She didn't rely on him like before. He was superfluous to her survival from this moment on.

He knocked and was immediately bided entrance. She was freshly showered and she had on some new clothes, holding one of his books against her chest.

"Hello Professor." She got up but he put his hand towards her in encouragement to sit back down. He pulled his customary chair towards her bed and folded his hands across his folded legs, settling to take her in.

She looked much healthier now. Her cheeks were still narrow but not as gaunt and her hair looked twice as thick as before. The worry lines in her forehead were deep as she assessed him but her eyes held a youthful trust and naivety, especially yielding to this particular man.

"I will do whatever you see fit." He finally stated. It was not his place to force her hand and it was not his place to send her out on her own. The decisions she made would have little repercussion on him and he only saw it fit to allow her this small dignity. She blushed softly and coiled her arms around her legs.

Even sitting there in her socked feet made her feel vulnerable. Could she live with this man, her teacher and ever feel comfortable? She was an intruder. But she had never felt such an easy way out before. And she was tired of fighting everything all the time.

"What would you expect of me?"

He frowned and sat back in the chair to think. He hadn't thought much about it, had only been swept up in the façade. But he supposed she was right, there would be expectations.

"I suppose, to maintain the appearance of marriage, I would expect to maintain a public appearance. I would not expect fidelity, but I would expect discretion on your part and anyone you chose to associate with." She looked down at her knees when he said this. "Miss Granger, I would not request much from you to be honest. I understand the convenience of this arrangement."

She pushed her chin up and forced herself to look at him. He was looking at his hands, obviously as uncomfortable as her.

"That is all you'd want?"

"I'm not impressed by your tact Miss Granger."

She remained silent, an unsure young girl coming to terms with her Professor.

"I expect nothing of the sort. Let me make that clear. You can find your libations… elsewhere." Lines were already being crossed. He smoothed out his collared shirt and steepled his fingers. " I rescued you. It was my choice, one that I do not regret. However circumstance took a turn and now most of the Ministry is under the impression that we are engaged to be wed. You may go back on the run, join another band. I will think of my own excuses. But you will be wanted. You can never rest."

She knew this, and the exhaustion hit her again as if it was new. She slumped her shoulders and nodded.

"Okay Professor."

"Miss Granger." He snarled and she looked up quickly at this change of tone. "I am not propositioning you young lady. Are we clear? I will not be made to feel as if I am forcing you in to this." He leaned forward, his eyes two dark pools of anger. She nodded again.

"I would like your help Professor Snape."

"Very well." He immediately regretted his loss of temper. " I will procure a ring for you-"

"Oh no! Please don't!" he raised an eyebrow. "I just don't – don't spend anything on me. Please?"

"I will buy you a ring if only for the sake of public appearance. In name, you will be my wife. You will do everything in your power and good will to represent my name. Are we clear?'

He was her teacher again, hard and unforgiving, spewing out instructions, ready to humiliate her in front of her peers. She had thought perhaps he might have some warmer regards for her but it seemed as if his attitude towards her would be the same as it was in school, even as his wife.

He stood to excuse himself but she barely registered this gesture.

"When Professor?"

"The sooner the better."

She was an intelligent girl, at least in his class. That had been the extent of his knowledge about her before all of this. She understood then and she understood now. There was a social propriety that she was now faced with. He was a highly regarded Potioneer and a retired Professor. He still engaged in politics and associated himself with prominent political representatives. If she was to be his wife, she would have to obligate herself to everything. Was she ready for this burden? It was much too late to second guess.

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They had their first dinner engagement a few days after. He was pressed to ask her but he knew if she did not eventually start escorting him to functions there would be detrimental gossiping. Though not one to care about gossip or gossipers, he felt the need to protect her from unnecessary obstacles.

She dressed the part. Still a little too slim for his tastes from her illness, but growing back in to her skin, she wore an evening gown his elves had procured from a shop in town. They were none too pleased with the task except for Tobbi who though forced, seemed to develop an awkward affection for the girl.

Dressed in gown and hair maintained, she was quite enticing. Her face however, wore a different expression. She appeared, whenever he saw her, sullen or trapped in her own mind. He pulled her in to the fireplace with him, as if to pull her out of her thoughts and reminded her that she was now a representation of him as well as herself.

He knew she must be fretted with emotion. It was the first time she would see a number of people in years and most of them had developed unkind opinions of her. She was quite brave. But it would not do for herself or him if she stewed in her own mind all night.

The moment they stepped in to the cavernous ball room he handed her a glass of wine and told her to drink. She did as she was told and after a few moments she looked happier. He easily guided her around the room with her arm tucked neatly inside of his own.

It was an awkward bit of affairs, introducing her as his fiancé. She was after all a number of years his senior and his ex-student. This qualm only festered within him however as all those guests he spoke with and held conversations with seemed nonchalant and eager to hear about her reasons for returning to society.

It seemed she had a number of school friends present. She quickly disengaged herself from him and excused herself, nearly running across the room to see them. They greeted her from what he could tell, with excited murmurs and he asked for pardon on behalf of his fiancé and her decorum.

"Damned Witch." He muttered as his contemporaries watched Hermionie. The night went on as if he had come alone. He spoke with all those he was obligated to speak to and made admittances where admittances were expected. When she joined him for dinner she was relatively calm but definitely drunk as she did her best to maintain an aura of normalcy.

"Where have you been?" he snarled in to her ear. He pulled her napkin down on her lap and hoped she would not make a scene.

"Miss Granger, it has been so long." Professor McGonogall chimed brightly. Hermionie mumbled something in response, something perhaps she believed to be coherent.

"Hermionie is delighted to be reunited with everyone Minerva." He answered for her. She reached for the glass of customary wine next to her dinner plate and he swallowed her hand in his, taking it away from her. "Perhaps some water, darling." He drawled.

She ate her fill, barely looking up to acknowledge all of the chatter around her. He wasn't entirely sure if she was completely aware but as the dinner plates emptied from the table in a magical display, she threw down her napkin and pushed back her chair to leave. He put a demanding hand on her thigh and pulled her back down, mortified but equally uncertain.

"Sit down."

"Yes Sir."

McGonogall gave him a grim look of disapproval, but there was no way to recover what had come from her lips.

"Don't tease." He said instead.

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"What was that display?" he growled as she tripped out of the fireplace, her gown soiled by soot now. "How dare you!" he caught her and pulled her flush against him, towering over her as he had done so many times before. She cast her eyes down, afraid and embarrassed. "Look at me you damn girl."

He shook her violently, his temper finally getting the better of him. If anyone had their suspicions about their engagement, this night would only serve as a confirmation. She covered her mouth, sick from the motion but he did not retaliate.

"You are insufferable." He pushed her in to a chair and took his coat off in fast angry movements. He handed her a sobering potion which she took more out of fear of him than for her own comfort.

"I'm sorry" she said quietly.

"You've shamed us both." He growled. She looked up with tears in her eyes.

"I'm trying-"

"No Miss Granger you are not." He rested on his calves in front of her taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to look at him. It was the most contact he had given her until then and it felt rough and painful. "Get out of my sight."

She rushed forward and he gave her the space to run towards her room. It was all quite dramatic.

Perhaps, just maybe he had made a mistake. She was only a child. She couldn't be expected to live up to the expectations of a Professor's wife. Even the engagement ring he adorned her finger with looked silly.

Perhaps he was too rough on her. Perhaps it was only her way of coping. He hadn't been supportive. In fact he encouraged the drinking when he gave her that first glass of wine to calm her nerves. He should have known she wasn't ready, should have realized it even if she didn't. She was so young. She had clung to his arm for dear life but he had raced her around the room without little thought for her comfort.

"Tobbi!" the house elf appeared almost instantly at his master's side. He was happier now that Miss Granger was better and spent more of his time working on the house but tried to find an equal balance between master and home.

"Yes master."

"See that Miss Granger is feeling alright Tobbi. See that she gets to sleep with anything she might need." The fat elf bowed and cracked out of the room.

He poured himself a drink, now very aware and very ashamed of the way he had dealt with her. It would not do to have a child as a wife and so he had to start treating her like an adult. She would have to see there were implications to her actions, for both of them. He sat down in the chair she had been in only moments before and let out the sigh of breath and that forced against his lips all evening. They were to be married in two weeks, only two weeks and she would belong to him in name. He tried to remember her in his classes but could recall very little.

"If the girl must be sacrificed, let it be. Though it would be a pity to waste." Dumbledore mused. It was the first and last time he had explicitly made reference to Hermionie Granger when Snape asked about the protection of Harry Potter's friends. Dumbledore was being sent away and replaced by Umbridge and it had been made abundantly clear to all those loyal to the headmaster that Potter's life was of insurmountable value.

He had never once attempted to coax any different kind of answer from the old man. He always accepted that Potter's life mattered and the girl, though clever and quick witted would never surmount this fact.

Dumbledore rested in a velvet red chair and looked in to the dying embers of his fireplace. Severus leaned against the edge of his superior's desk, with his hands in the pocket of his trousers. They were both revelling in this infrequent moment of silence, on the brink of something terribly obscure and black.

Thinking back on it, why had he not reacted? Why had he not insisted on the protection of the girl and the Weasley? Why had it made so much sense then and not a shred of sense now? Prodding his own fire now with the poker, the embers fell and bounced as if pained by their own heat. She was consequential to him now and it thrilled him to think of it.

"Blast."


	6. Chapter 6

He entreated her to join him for breakfast which she wilfully accepted. Minding her second plate of salted pork and egg and humming contently over a third cup of tea, it seemed her elastic memory had forgiven the transgressions of last night, or at least had come to amicable terms with them.

Severus' less naïve mind was not put to rest however.

As he stirred his tea in slow thoughtful motions he regarded her as an ornament, something the elves might have picked up to brighten the house. She looked quite fine in the dining room chair, the hard dark mahogany contrasting so nicely with her fresh face of health. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the color in her cheeks as it brushed past in to her hair.

"How are you feeling?"

She nodded. "Fine."

"It's a good thing you took the sobering potion. You might not feel as fine now if you hadn't." she coloured at the mention of "last night" but expressed her meek thanks anyway.

"I expect better from you Miss Granger." Her ring caught in the light as she distracted herself with more toast.

"I'm sorry Professor. I got carried away."

He slammed his hand violently against the table and the sound tingled in his palm. She looked up but found his face calm and collected.

"You will not do that again. Are we clear?"

She nodded.

"The formal announcement of our engagement will be two days from now. There will be a dinner, here, with very many familiar faces." His chair creaked as he leaned backward in to its support. "A lot of unfamiliar faces." She said nothing. "How would you take to a late morning stroll?"

Once outside, he held her arm in the crook of his elbow, as he had done the night before. As he showed her off to the trees and the garden flowers she seemed reanimated.

Despite what she had not represented in the war, he wanted to know her now. He knew how she liked to take her medicine, and he was privileged to know of the birth mark on the back of her neck but beyond that he knew nothing about the girl.

"How do you take your coffee Miss Granger?"

Her answer of "two milks and one sugar" was not informative about her character or misleading. He took note for the sake of her future comfort. Feeling a bridge building between them, slowly, he asked her more questions. They were questions of little consequence, questions an adult would most likely ask a child. What was her favourite class in school? Where did she enjoy spending her time? Did she have any hobbies? She answered him readily, in no way feeling patronized. Her hand was very aware of itself as it tried to find an acceptable place to rest on her Professor's arm.

He was an old fashioned man, with a preferred taste for old fashioned ways. He readily admitted that it gave him pleasure to assert his authority over her, just as it gave him an unexplained contentedness to lead her around his estate.

"Professor" she finally said. "Do you think we will be happy?"

It was such a strange question to ask. Her bottom lip protruded with uncertainty and she pulled her arm out of his to gain some distance. He was much taller than her, and right now it seemed as if he towered over her like a real giant. If it had ever been an option to be happy, this man, with his ugly sneer and casual drawl did not seem to be the answer. He had not proven to be a patient man, at least when it mattered but she supposed like any girl her age, she wanted to be happy. That was after all why she had been on the run from this law for so long.

"It will be nice to stop." Cryptic.

He did not pull her arm through his again but continued walking, his casual dress shoes crunching softly on the gravel.

"I suppose nothing will change between us then." She said as she followed a little behind him. She sounded disappointed, her voice taking on the soft edge he already was familiar with.

"Probably for the best." He answered honestly. It was one thing to be married to her in name. He had a sense of duty, a pride in being able to help her. It would be an entirely different matter to be married to her in any other way. It would hack his dignity in half. And perhaps then, they would both see the marriage for what it was, a mistake.

She would never be attracted to him anyhow. He was much older, his hair starting to grey, his face sharper and thinner. He had the scars of a war won on his body, thick ropes of reminders. He was chatted about amongst the older women but none as young as Hermionie. His body was the biography of his life written and shaped by another author. No. It would not do to grow any attachments.

He quickened his pace, his long legs carry him from what made him uncomfortable. She was making him uncomfortable. He stopped suddenly, realizing that he had never asked her what she expected of him. He made it abundantly clear what he wanted from her, but maybe she was expecting something else. He had given her freedom, the right to associate with whomever she chose with discretion of course, but nevertheless, the choice. He didn't see very many affiliations in his future but it would be agreeable to engage in them if there were. And so Severus asked her what she meant by it all.

"I don't expect much Sir." She said looking down at her shoes. She was being awkward. She was also lying. The tell-tale signs were clear on her face as if she was shouting the truth at the top of her lungs. So he asked her again what it was she wanted.

"Romance? Gifts? Do I look like that kind of man?"

He was embarrassing her but it was imperative that these lines be drawn.

"I would like it if we got along is all." What a childish thing to say. She meant it though in all of its childish emphasis.

"We do."

"No-"she huffed and for the second time, lost her temper with him. Her hands balled in to small useless fists at her side as she fought between saying what she wanted and hiding behind it. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"What is it that you want Madam?" he drawled.

"I'm just hoping we can learn to-"she struggled without his help. "Be what a husband and wife should be." It was his turn to be affronted.

"Might I remind you we will be man and wife in name only." Bugger this all! Why was she suddenly getting so sentimental on him? "You are my student."

She looked down at her ring, the only thing that proved any relationship between them. Suddenly feeling overtly shy she lowered her hand again and looked down at his shoes.

"Yes sir."

He led her through the gated property around the stoned house once more before depositing her back inside and relieving her of his nasty pessimism. Bundled in her winter attire and overheated, she plopped ungracefully in his customary seat by the fire and fingered the upholstery on the arms.

The room was decorated with meaningful trinkets and photos. It was where he entertained his most intimate guests and thoughts. It was his office. The cherry shelves were lined with thick spine books. His Merlin of Order was just a paper weight now, holding down some loose leaf parchment. The desk was grandeur and important looking. It made Hermionie seem young and careless. This was a room, like any other room. And yet unlike any other either. It gave her a comfortable affirmation. She imagined him sitting at the desk, mulling over some whiskey or reading the daily paper. He never was the man she would marry but the man who collected essays from her or gave her detention a few times.

Feeling the slick sheen of sweat beading on her back, she removed herself from the room and sought more comforting thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

The first one to arrive for their engagement dinner was his emotionally tousled mother. Having been what she believed to be "the last person" to find out about her only son's engagement, she was insistent upon details and convinced to be a pest. She scoured Hermionie with thin eyes as Hermionie scoured her in like. The aging but austere Prince Matriarch might have been as tall as her son before the habits of old age curled her spine. She was beak nosed and she had a malicious sneer that put her son's to shame. Her hair was pulled in a neat raven black chignon threaded with thin white streaks.

"I was not of the opinion you would marry Severus. Especially" she looked Hermionie up and down shamelessly. "Such a young tart."

"Be tactful mother." He murmured as he helped her out of her with her deep oak cane. Hermionie's meek smile was only an affirmation of just how young she really was and Madam Prince observed as much.

"I must ask the same of you son."

Hermionie stood awkwardly in the middle of the foyer, the older woman having brushed past her with not so much a cursory glance.

"Come." Her teacher whispered, taking the soft tone of voice he hadn't bestowed upon her since she had been ill. Hermionie followed in to the sitting room and attempted to sit in the least threatening way.

"How long have you been entangled Severus?"

"Entangled mother?"

"Do you owe someone money? Has this little chit black mailed you? Before your guests arrive and you make a mockery of our name, I demand to know the reasons for this all." Her chin was high and she looked rather regal despite the ugly scowl on her face. Severus took his mother's gloved hand in his and Hermionie saw him really smile for the first time.

"It is an engagement Mother, I assure you of its legitimacy."

"She is half your age Severus. And you have no need for a wife."

He was apparently willing to deceive his own mother for the security of her well-being. She leaned back a little bit in to the sitting chair and observed the scuffle between mother and son. Madam Prince however, was done with this conversation and turned towards the girl.

"What have you made of yourself?"

The question was so uncharacteristic to any conversation, especially that with a stranger that Hermionie immediately sat forward again, unprepared and red faced.

"Don't be insolent girl." Madam Prince barked.

"Hermionie is a very intelligent woman." Severus Snape interjected while letting go of his mother's hand. "I have no doubts she will become highly regarded."

"She has little to say Severus." His mother tapped the bottom of her cane against the oriental rug in a hooded thump.

"You're making her nervous mother."

As the other guests started to make their way to through the discarded wards and in to the regal setting of the house, Hermionie fretted over the perception people might have of her. She hadn't realized that perhaps, in this society, she would be the intruder. As she stood in the mirror, wearing a dress she had never worn, and her hair in smooth ringlets, she imagined the worst.

"Miss Granger?" Severus stood behind her and looked at his own reflection, seemingly less worried about the events to unfold. "Are you ready?" He didn't touch her, but for some reason his presence was an exaggerated comfort. Right now, he was at her defense because she was a reflection of him. If someone criticized her, he would take it as a direct offense to his person.

Without waiting for her consent, he took her arm in his and pulled her away from the mirror.

The number of people here was more daunting than the ministry event. All of these people were here for her, and her engagement to this prominent professor. People went out of their way to greet her, people she remembered, people she didn't and people she was certain she had once known before the long failed trek to freedom. All of her old professors were there, ministry officials who had once been school chums, girls she remembered seeing in the halls at Hogwarts now obediently following their husbands around in social good form.

And in the midst of it all, the great form of Kingsley Shacklebolt, barrelling towards them with the welcoming grin she had grown to trust and learnt to hate.

"Control yourself." Her fiancé warned, gripping her arm tightly in his. He still wasn't quite sure what this witch was capable of.

"Severus!" Kingsley boomed, donning for once the traditional, colourful garb he was known for. "Hermionie Granger!" He cupped her free hand in his but she did not deter. Instead she smiled.

"Hello Minister."

"King" Severus' baritone fell past his lips. "Thank you my friend, for such an enchanting evening. My fiancé and I are very grateful." It felt at odds to traipse her around the room again, especially after he had drawn the lines so thick between them. But he flushed her cheek with affectionate kisses and held her close during all the dances. He was and always had been a good actor. The girl muddled along like requested, drinking to the toasts and smiling to the guests. The affirmation of their engagement was reflected in her eyes but he still couldn't quite hurdle over her request from a few days before. For that night, it seemed as if they were not play acting, but right in the thick of it, the very real and very honest love of marriage.

As the guests departed, they said their good byes to each one. The cold November night air chilled her bare arms and raised her skin as Severus stood by her side and gave thanks on her behalf. There had been no death eaters, as she suspected there would be. The company had been rather good, made up of the people she would have surrounded herself with regardless. As Shacklebolt placed a drunken wet kiss on her cheek, she amended that earlier statement but was still rather pleased with the company she was expected to keep. His mother was one of the last to throng out, wobbling out with her cane, keeping her own pace. She pulled Severus down to meet her levelled gaze, her ancient smelling perfume mixed with the scent of staleness.

"You can't fool me." She stated and left without another word on the matter.

It seemed he couldn't for all the dramatics he had set about. And that was just it, Severus was not in any way dramatic. He only nodded in agreement.

When all the guests had gone and the dinner sets put away, Severus sat in his office, his fiancé rested unsurely on the carpet at his feet. He wanted to tell her she had done a good job, his teacher mannerisms coming to call. But he kept quiet on the matter.

"You should get some rest Miss Granger."

She looked up at him, her hair honey in the light of the fire. She looked tired but she shook her head. She was so obstinate.

Right then, he admired her for what she really was, only for a few moments. At his feet nothing about this seemed fictional. She crouched over as she turned around and looked back in to the fire.

He picked up the small pocketbook beside his chair and started to read, occasionally looking at her for signs of discontent. She remained still however, engaged in the tips of her feet and she shoved them out in front of her and observed. They were marked from the heels she wore all night. She didn't say anything or make any noise except to occasionally stir the fire back to life.

After an hour or so, he stood and excused himself, overcome with fatigue.

"Good night young lady."

"Good night Professor."


	8. Chapter 8

His mother, in a wanton craze, had married a muggle she fell in love with named Tobias Snape. The man, despite his charming appearances, was fraught and overcome with the downfalls of his life. A carpenter with little in way of fortune, it had always been made apparent by his mother that Tobias was the kind of man Severus should avoid becoming. Eileen Prince, the heiress and daughter of one of the most prominent wizarding families in Britain was ceremoniously plucked from her family tree and ridded of the glorious fortune in which she had been promised to.

With the disproportionate life as lived by people with little money, the marriage quickly changed from one of lust to once of consequence and circumstance for Eileen. They lived in a small suburban house just on the breach of Spinner's End where Severus grew up and left behind.

Deaf to the developments of her only son, his mother spared him in no matter. As his father's patience became stretched and he would leave the house for extended periods of time, his mother came to depend on him in unforgivable ways. The heavy weight of early manhood was hefted on to his shoulders.

When finally, his father had decided to never return, it was in to the hands of death that Tobias submitted. A greater master than his wife, he left the family for a mistress that could not be refused. And as a result, he had released his wife from the tainted associations that restrained her with his living breath. It was easy for Eileen Prince to slip back in to wealth, like a warm blanket on a crisp early morning. He reaped the truths from her family about the real nature of muggles, and agreed to her blindness on the matter. She had transformed in to the conservative type that would later fuel the ideologies of the great Lord Voldemort. She never truly trusted Severus, though she could not deny the natural affection of being his mother. He was half Tobias, and half muggle and for only these reasons she had to constantly look out for him.

Her son's engagement to a muggle was nothing short of a heart attack. He would surely suffer the same ill fate as her, the ill repute, the emotional turmoil that comes with something as low as a muggle. He knew her opinions on muggles, had heard them every day of his childhood but it hadn't ever really stuck with him. He loved his mother dearly, owed her quite a bit for his character, but never agreed with her on her simplistic view of dominance and order.

And now, as a grown man, grown past the pointing of forming the wrongs and rights of his conscience, he looked upon his muggle fiancé as he would any other talented Witch.

The dealings with his mother however few proved to be difficult as she searched her son for an explanation. His course of action seemed to her and very sensibly, rash and uncalculated. Hermionie Granger had no wealth, no prospects and from what Eileen Prince could see, she was a mute. She hadn't the notion this match was made out of anything but a strong game of charity on her son's part and no amount of her family fortune could allow her to promote this fufflecocky.

The Matriarch would stand firm in her predictions. Hermionie Granger was of no good use.

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He looked outlandish in the tuxedo. At least, in his opinion. He was too old for this sort of thing, too old for the traditions of youth and he barked his protests. The elves bowed their ears in submission and told him that there could be no changes so close to the wedding day.

"We live in a world of magic." He stated tersely. "How is it not possible that this can be changed?"

The seamstress was too busy. They'd have to schedule another appointment. He would just have to look outlandish. He pulled the lapels down gruffly. Fine. It would only be for one day, for only a few hours.

They had agreed, or rather Severus had insisted, upon a small wedding with a few ministry officials present and an even smaller celebratory dinner but King out ruled him. He didn't care to lollygag and pretend amidst all the pomp and circumstance but for Kingsley Shacklebolt this was not just a celebration of marriage but an opportunity and a confirmation of the success of his reign. Severus didn't care to display himself in all the series of firsts traditionally done on the wedding day. The less of an audience to this farce, the easier it would be. And yet….

He looked himself over once more in the full length mirror realising he barely recognized himself. He had grown overtly since the fall of Voldemort. He was able to expand in the ways afforded his contemporaries and he had found that he was rather much more inclined to social lives than he had thought. He also was friendlier than he and others supposed, more open but not inappropriately so.

He waved the fussing elves away and stepped from the mirror in to the realty of his room. Tomorrow he would be taking a wife. She would live here with him and eat the same dinners as him. She would go to the same ministry events as him and share his wine. When she was sick, he would know, when he was sick she would come to know. She would read his books and stir at his fireplaces. She would be a permanent house guest.

They had barely seen each other since their engagement dinner, the mere size of the house had made sure of that. She didn't seek him out, she was cared for well enough by the elves and her own independence. And he had no reason to look for her company either. He busied himself like he usually did in his usual ways.

In the rare moments of complete stasis, he remembered her by his feet near the fire. I am a grown man, he reminded himself, slipping out of his wedding clothes. Suffer me not to forget.

Growing impatient with the internal struggle he was having he poured himself a small tumbler of whiskey that grew quite suddenly into more than a mouthful.

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The morning of his wedding, Severus Snape could have been found with his head dangling over the side of his bed. Having drunk more than his intended fill, his head ached and he scowled at the ways his body was denying him in his older age.

Upside down, everything seemed a little clearer; at least the throbbing tension in his head was relieved. Tobbi bounded around the room preparing his master's garb as the older gentleman damned him in unforgivable but silent ways. He was the one who had requested an early wedding. It had all bloody well been him. He asked for a sobering potion, his position soon causing him dizziness and fatigue and got out of the understanding caresses of his bed.

"Damn."

He was late for his own wedding.

The girl was already standing unceremoniously at the bottom of the staircase when he finally emerged. She looked perplexed and concerned as she stood in symbolic gestures.

"Good morning Miss Granger." He said as he took her appearance in. She was in a white floor length gown, simple in style but stunning in appearance. It fell to the floor in a satin pool, her hair in the same soft ringlets as their engagement dinner. She had rouged her lips and flattered her eyes with makeup. She had made an attempt it seemed, to be appealing.

"Professor."

He took her hand in his and warmed it between his palms. "Call me Severus in front of our guests."

He invited a select few to the ceremony. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat front and center, wearing once again the colourful garb he had once been known for. Sprinkled around the room were various other politicians and professors Snape favoured. Relonda Sceptre, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Professor McGonogall for all her squawk and subtle mistrust, Professors Flitwick and Binns, the Ministers of Finance and Health as well as self-proclaimed Minister of his personal affairs, his mother, who sat in proud defiance in the back.

None of the very few guests were related to Hermionie in either way though it might have given her some comfort to see old teaching staff. The girl had insisted on the bother of informing her family though Severus could see through the excuse but to what point he could not say.

Stationed in front of his peers, his mother and his young bride, he told her he would never let her for wanting, he would never desert her or hurt her or let others shame her. He told Hermionie Granger that he would be there when she was ill, when she was lacking and when she had lost her way. He told her he would never leave her and she told him the same in like. Her small hand was damn in his, nervous and unsure. She trembled as he neared her and kissed her chastely on her lips. How easy it was to slip in to this game they were playing.

He smiled at her decorum as his audience applauded their union. They were wizard and witch, bound together in the sanction of marriage and held to the obligations of this union. He was her husband now.

As he received thanks on their behalf, right on the spot where they had been married only moments before, he suddenly looked very alarming to the girl.

His mother barrelled towards them at an impressive rate, using her cane to make way for herself. She looked livid, as if this marriage had happened in a split moment of her inattention rather than an hour long ceremony.

"What an unfortunate series of events, Severus." She voiced loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room. "I would have hoped you would have come to sense before it was too late. Now it seems I will have to pay when the time comes that you've realized your transgressions." She did not look at Hermionie, as was her custom, but kissed her son curtly on his cheek and excused herself from the spectacle.

He wrapped her in the most effervescent haze for the rest of the day, so thick she could barely see through it. He was at her side for most of the evening, cascading her with loving embraces she had never received from any man before. He openly told her how happy he was in front of all their guests and paraded her around the dance floor like a trophy. She was overwhelmed by the display finding herself forced to remember it was all an act, a game he was playing stronger than on their engagement night.

Finally believing the good intentions of her old colleague, McGonogall sat by Hermionie during a Scottish Waltz and dallied for information on where the girl had been these past years. Too old to be affected by the marriage law, Minerva McGonogall frequently forgot there was even such a law in effect. It did nothing to change the atmosphere of the school, as she determined it wouldn't, and she had not faced the same consequences as many women younger than her.

"How long have you been in such a way with Severus?" McGonogall's big eyes devoured the girl in all her bridal blush. Hermionie, unsure of what story the professor had already circulated, searched for her new husband amongst the crowd.

"Long enough to know." She said in a timid and quiet way. The headmistress grinned deviously.

"I wonder what little Snapes will look like."

The girl choked on her Champaign and laughed, for the first time in what seemed forever. Little babies with prematurely thick sets of black hair and tiny hooked noses scurried around her mind.

Their attention was caught by Severus Snape, a professor who had too many drinks on his wedding night. He looked so lean, standing even taller than his usual height as he balanced himself on a discarded wine crate pulled from the kitchen.

"Hello." He said as he looked around the forming crowd. "I would like to make a short, but customary toast. First, to all my distinguished guests, thank you. To one particular woman I would also like to raise my glass." The crowd turned to see Hermionie. "Today I've realized, just how lucky I am."

Her teacher looked at her in a way he hadn't allowed himself until then as he cheered to their future.

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After the day's events and the night's mischiefs and after all their guests had left, the professor was entirely drunk and demanded to sit in the chair beside the kitchen door. It was only a chair, surrounded by nothing and Hermionie wasn't sure anyone had ever sat in it before. It looked like a decoration and she wasn't entirely certain it wouldn't break under his weight. She considered leaving him there, considered persuading him to sit in the chair in his office or in his room. But the night had given her grandeur illusions and she believed, even if only for this moment that she was his wife and it was her duty to look after him. It was an excusable assumption.

So she conjured another chair and sat by his side, keeping her distance, not so disillusioned. In a matter of moments, he was pushed back shamelessly against the wall, mouth slightly open and snoring in to the enticement of his inebriation. She levitated him to bed on her own, dismissing the elves as a way of thanks for all they had done during the day preparations and saw to his comfort as she knew she should.

She remembered his room and knew her way around it even in the dark. It smelt comforting, like the forgotten smell of the basement or her mother's perfume. He groaned as she put him in the bed, tux pants and all but fell back in to quiet contentment soon after.

She was certain that her wedding night would have been beautiful. She told herself this every single time she couldn't sleep from the cold or the fear of snatchers. She told herself this when she had nothing to eat or gave her food away to someone else. She was there because she was waiting for something she knew was going to be worth it. But as she stood at the foot of her husband's bed, her old professor and personal tormentor, she didn't feel quite at a loss. This wasn't exactly how she had imagined it, her betrothed drinking himself in to a stupor to handle the façade of their marriage, but she felt she could be in a worse predicament and felt a sense of relief that she could hear his gentle snoring.

She had childishly hoped there could be a possibility of growth in their relationship. He told her that she was welcome to see other people if she practiced discretion but the idea tasted overly salty in her mouth. She wanted to remain faithful to her husband and hoped for her sake, he would want the same. He had bombarded those hopes with an adult perspective she had not grown in to yet. Her romantic notions of love and marriage hadn't been tarnished and she wished for these things even with her cold and hard headed potions professor.

It was not in her nature to ask for things. Her friendship with Harry and Ron had been sequences of repeated offerings on her part, and very little acceptances. She supposed that was just the kind of girl she was, and prided herself on her selflessness. But Professor Snape had flustered her with his unwavering deterrence. She didn't think she was capable of loving him. She felt much too uncomfortable with his presence and his authoritative demeanours. But she wanted to know that the man who had nursed her back to health would be there for her again.

She closed his door, suddenly wishing to go back in and felt the tingle of being alone.


	9. Chapter 9

"Damn again." He muttered. He had woken up twice in a row, careless enough to forsake his sobering potion. His head split in two as he sat up and he leaned his head against the headboard to alleviate the protests in his head.

He was dressed in his finest still, all tousled and wrinkled now. Those damn house elves could be so negligent some times. He tried to remember how he left the girl on her wedding night but could not recall. He'd been neglectful and he would apologize.

He lavished upon himself with breakfast in bed, forgetting the celebrations were for two parties and not just himself. It did not occur to him that she might wait for him at the breakfast table. It did not occur to him that she wanted to have breakfast with him at all. He took a shower at his own leisure and dressed at a comfortable pace. When he finally did emerge, she was not at home and so began what he had foreseen as their marriage contract.

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His study of runes was limited at best. As he scoped the largest books in his private library for any reference on marriage runes, he was optimistic. He didn't know much about the ancient magic but there were runes for everything. He just had to find the right one.

The consummation of their marriage, and for that matter his courage to bring up the consummation of their marriage had been postponed for nearly a month as of yet. He was determined, as a scholar and as a gentleman, to find a magical substitution. Hermionie didn't say anything when she did see him and didn't appear to be in any hurry to ask or answer these questions herself. He was not as naïve as her however, and knew this was a matter that would have to be dealt with.

Like everything else in their marriage so far, he thought of the issue and implication of this particular problem as if they were issues of another Professor and his wife. The impeding consequences seemed rather far removed and he failed to see the severity of the situation. His optimism now stemmed from a misguided perception of choice now.

When they saw each other, sometimes at dinner, usually in a hall way or near the kitchen, they regarded one another as polite acquaintances as they had done in the school hall ways or after class if she was the last one out of his room. The only difference was that he genuinely wanted to know what she was up to, how she had been feeling and what her plans were for the next couple of hours.

As his hand flattened the text before him he realized that he hadn't taken his wedding ring off. He hadn't ever worn one before, even out of curiosity. He studied his hand and lifted to his face for better inspection. It was his hand, with the same roughness, the same nimble fingers but it was vastly different. The ring didn't feel cumbersome or in the way either. He decided to leave it on if only for the sake of skipping the problem of remembering to put it back on for appearance.

He closed the book before him, realizing it didn't offer any information on the topic he was searching. None of his collection did, but every time he closed a book with an empty thud, he felt even more optimistic than when he opened it.

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It was a strange set of affairs.

At dinner that evening, she joined him. He was pleased to have the company, cooped up in his office all day researching. She didn't say much, she never did in his presence, but it was a less tense silence than before. He had never been one to try and fill silences. He hadn't ever seen it as his duty or his obligation. But here and now, with his young fresh bride, he wanted to talk with her, if only to placate her loneliness. He contemplated talking to her about his runes research but held his tongue on the subject, considering perhaps she was too young for this kind of discussion.

Instead he asked her if she would care to join him for an evening stroll once dinner was finished.

"No thank you Professor."

Her unexpected denial of his company forced him to look away from his plate.

"And why not?"

She shrugged.

"It's cold out Sir."

Her refusal as his wife and as his legal equal was blurred by her refusal as his student and submissive. In a rash and unmitigated display of disapproval, his knife fell sharply on to his plate and she looked at him with suddenly round and fearful eyes.

"Do not be insolent Miss Granger. I expect your company."

In a whirl of realization that dizzied his sense, he saw how insignificant this was and how dreadfully dramatic he was being. It was too late now. She slammed her own utensils down and forced her eyes in to unforgiving slits.

"You said you didn't expect anything of me but to be your wife in name. I've done that. You can't expect me to waste my spare time with you. You nasty terrible old man!"

He stood up and let the napkin fall away standing in front of the witch he knew was under this victimizing façade. She had always been temperamental in his class, always sassy and outspoken. He'd threatened to punish that tongue of hers and chastise her cheek far too many times. This time, instead of bellowing at her in front of her peers or taking her down a few notches by taking her house points away he leaned closely in to her view and whispered in to her ear.

"I am your husband."

He lifted himself to his full height and caressed the side of her cheek as she spluttered in retaliation "I expect you to do as I bid."

Mindful of her resign in to silence, he dropped his hand to his side again.

"You're the one who said we didn't need to spend time together." She finally stated, ignoring the thinly veiled threat he had dished out so eloquently. It had been her who had wanted this from the beginning, to curb the inevitable loneliness and become something more than teacher and student. And it was him who said no. Now he demanded her audience? And when she was resistant to give it, he forced her? There was nothing kosher about this.

It wasn't as if she didn't know how repulsed he was by her already. She knew from occasional visits in to his office that he was researching preventative runes. He was looking for a way to consummate their marriage without even touching her. She had even done some research of her own to no avail, to help him with the process. If he didn't want anything to do with her, she surely did not want to have anything to do with him.

It ached in a way she couldn't remember feeling. The sheer rejection of it planted in her stomach and twisted her guts in its thorny palms. Worse than any unimportance she had ever held, she was now unimportant to her own husband, as inconsequential as parsley.

He was staring at her now, with confused derision. Her outspokenness may have earned her a far worse punishment as a school girl but now his words were empty and deflated. He had no more power over her than any other and this for some reason fuelled the truthful injury of his rejection.

She finally stood from the table as well, dropping her own unused napkin on to the table and pushed back her chair.

"If you'd like to speak to me as a human Sir, I'll be in my room." She left, allowing this to serve as her excuse. He did not follow her and he did not come to speak to her after.

She propped her feet flat on the head rest of her bed and let the coolness take her mind off the incident. She felt trapped here. This was his home and he wanted nothing to do with her. She membered how he behaved when she was ill, his insistence on her remaining here. That was what made her think this would all be okay. But now…

Tobbi set her tea service by the fireplace in her room, where she liked it and reminded her of the Minister's dinner the following night. The fat little elf was the only bearable thing in the whole house, making sure insistently that she had everything she needed. As pathetic as it was, he was her only friend.

The death of Harry Potter in the final battle was something she had figured in to the equation for a long time. It only made sense when he was lying face down on the ground, at her feet. Everything else had made very little sense. He had died for the safety of a world that would fall in to tyranny only months later. She dealt with his death in a pragmatic way. Harry had been constantly training them for this very moment, and although she would miss her best friend, she knew she could never change his mind about these particular things.

She hadn't kept touch with Ron after Harry's death. As much as they tried, they had always been two pieces of sand paper rubbing together. After the Marriage law, things became even more strained as Hermionie decided to join the Opps and Ron decided to settle down once and for all.

She enjoyed seeing her old school chums at the ministry events that Professor Snape took her to. They were different, less interesting than she remembered, but friendlier faces. She went easily because of them and rarely stood by Snape's side for more than ten minutes. She knew he didn't like it.

Well, this time, she wasn't going. Her pride was too strong for that. Her face flushed in the hot shower of his offending behaviour and she pulled her feet down to sit up straight.

"Tobbi, please tell Professor Snape I will not be attending tomorrow."

The house elf bowed and cracked out of the room, leaving the tea there to remain untouched for the rest of the evening.

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She wanted a reaction from him and she was not disappointed.

After hearing of her refusal to accompany him to the Minister's dinner he waved the news away and told the elf to have her ready by five. The girl adamantly refused to be dressed in anything other than jeans and jumper and Severus, who had never been known for his patience, stormed the girl's room in a frontal attack.

"What is the meaning of this Madam?" he asked politely as he took her in. She was sitting on the bed, lackadaisically, reading a book on runes. She was not prepared in any way to go to a dinner at the Minister's house, but every bit prepared to pick up a fight with her husband.

"I don't want to go tonight." She said simply. It wasn't malicious or revengeful, in all honesty, she did not want to go with him. He was already in his formal attire which made him look more intimidating.

"What is it that you do want?" he asked as he sat on the bed side chair he used to occupy. His meaningful gesture threw her off and she took a few moments to compose her answer.

"I don't know."

He crossed his leg, and folded his hands in his lap.

"Ok. We will stay in this evening."

He made no move to leave her. In fact he shrugged out of his dinner jacket and pushed it over the chair.

"Runes." He said with his teacher voice. It made her skin crawl. "Why Runes?"

"I thought we were studying Runes."

"I need a drink." He summoned a decanter and two tumblers for ice and whiskey. He poured himself one and he poured her one. "I can explain."

She waited.

"Hermionie…" it was the first time he called her by her given name in only her company.

She worried about his temper, it flared at the worst of times and she wanted answers right now.

"I only wanted to prevent what could be prevented." He finally said without apology in his tone. "I think we owe it to ourselves not to pretend this is something it isn't." He hadn't once imagined her in anything but her school uniform inside his mind until now. Even when he remembered events that happened only days or hours ago, she was still in that damn school uniform. But suddenly a vivid image of her naked form flashed across his mind.

He made her a fool again. Why wouldn't she be okay with a preventative rune? He was saying it with his eyes, his creased brow, his stick rigid posture, his fiddling fingers. He didn't want her and she was crazy to think anything else would work as well for them.

He narrowed his eyes down at his hands and sighed though. "I haven't found one as of yet to be honest Miss Granger. And…" he paused and looked right at her "it seems that, just because I am exempt from the law, does not mean that you are by association, exempt from the law."

She shrugged. What was he getting at? She married. She did the whole wedding thing, right in front of the Minister himself. In her opinion she was beyond the call of duty. He must have seen the misunderstanding blooming across her face because he leaned forward.

"Children."

Of course! How could she have been so dimwitted. Children. It wasn't enough that she was married to the biggest git in the world, she had to have children with him. That was why she was forced in to marriage to begin with. Her palms grew hot and cold all at once as the fear bubbled in her stomach.

"There is no rune that will make children. There are some things magic just can't do."

She stood up, trying to get some distance between them, for some clarity. Suddenly it felt like he was forcing her in to something. It felt like he wanted her to do something she had no intention of doing.

But it wasn't him.

It was Shacklebolt.

"I thought you were exempt." She finally said "from everything."

"Miss Granger, I am. But I chose to marry anyway. Obviously the natural assumption would be that I married because I wanted to, because I wanted you and everything that came with marriage. Your intentions could have been less honourable for all the Minister cares for, but now you're obligated to me and to him. You're trapped as far as he's concerned."

"And you?"

"And me what?" he drawled.

"And as far as you're concerned? Am I trapped?" Her courage started to come back to her as she stood there in her socks.

"You know you're not. You are my wife, not my house elf."

"I need a drink." She grabbed the decanter and the tumbler from his side and downed the rest of his glass' contents. How the tables had turned on her! She thumped on the bed, facing away from him, her neck straining from the angle she bent it. Wouldn't she ever get a reprieve?

"I need another one." She poured herself three consecutive tumblers before he took the damned thing away from her and vanished it.

"Is it your custom to drink yourself in to a stupor young lady?" he asked as he leaned down before her on his calves, just the way he had done the night she got drunk at the Ministry dinner. There was no anger in his eyes this time though and there was no reprimanding. He didn't wait for an answer, he understood even if he didn't say it, just how tough her life must have been.

The confused feeling of melancholic depression and accelerated inebriation clouded her head and her judgment. She suddenly felt over-aware of him, and felt the need to overcompensate for everything she wasn't being. He had a different idea though, and settled on allowing her to be just the girl she was.

"Make the best of this Miss Granger." He muttered as she plooped down on to the pillows and closed her eyes. The room was spinning and she felt out of body now. Everything really felt that much better. Severus, unawares as to the girl's sudden change in condition continued talking to her as if nothing had changed.

"….spikes down the mountain.. school... to be honest." She fell asleep without even trying.


	10. Chapter 10

When she awoke, he was gone, and the feeling of missing something important weighed her down. He left her a sobering potion which she took gingerly and decided she wanted to have breakfast with him. Well, more like lunch now. He was in his study, pouring over a leather bound notebook when she came in uninvited. She took her liberties with his personal spaces and it always angered him. Not to her notice.

"Good afternoon Madam." He said putting the notebook away and offering her a seat at his desk. She stood for a hesitant moment and then rested herself on to the upholstered guest chair.

"We need to talk about last night." She stated.

"It feels like our occupation is nothing but talking Miss Granger. What is the area of conversation today?" he drawled.

"A-about the baby."

He raised an impertinent eyebrow above, into his hair line as she tried to retract her statement. "I mean… us.. having a baby."

"Miss Granger, let's make something perfectly clear. I am not prepared to have a baby with a baby. We will have to find a way around it."

"I'm not a child!" she snapped, reverting to her old defensive ways.

"You are prepared then to lose your freedom to the small being that will come from this mistake? Your free time, your pleasures and hobbies, your youthful attitudes and your young body? You're willing to give that all up to me, so that I may burden you with my child, a child that will come to loath its parents for their mistakes?" It was the most honest he had ever been with her. And once again, he was right, she was arguing for the sake of arguing, for only wanting the things he didn't because he didn't want them.

He could care less in this moment what she said to him. What exactly was he arguing with the chit for? Why did he think it was his place to tell her of the hardships of motherhood?

"King Will be lenient to us, I will make sure of it. There's no need making damage where there doesn't need to be."

She started in on her lunch having not voiced her own opinion on the final matter, neither forming one yet or prepared to share it. He watched her carefully, expectant of some kind of young adult break down, but it didn't come. How pleasant.

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There is a proper way to cut a mango to get the most out of it. In the end, the rest of the meat that clings to the pit will just have to be sucked off to be enjoyed. Things usually get messy so have a napkin on hand.

The most lucrative way to let someone down was a very similar process. Severus Snape always felt like had gone beyond the call of duty for everything he had ever done. For spying, for teaching, for research for family. But now he felt he wasn't doing all he could do for his little wife.

She moped around the house, as if his accommodation to her whims was pivotal to her happiness. What she wanted from him was very unclear though. And it angered him that she demanded something from him which she could not even know.

"More wine, less food." Shacklebolt insisted as he handed over two glasses of white wine to Severus and Hermionie. "Unless of course, you require a more delicate libation." He withheld the glass from Hermionie but she shook her head and received her wine. "Soon."

Severus rolled his eyes as the Minister found new company. "Mind your own damn business." He muttered darkly. Out of all the research he had been doing he hadn't found anything about making babies out of thin air. He knew he wouldn't either. Apart from that, their marriage was very close to being null and void, the magical contract that was keeping them together having never been fully signed and sealed.

She sipped her wine cautiously, apparently finding a taste for alcohol and not wanting to risk her husband's wrath. Despite her friends beckoning her over, she stayed by his side, keeping her arm linked in his, occasionally leaning in to him for show, or pressing a kiss to his cheek. They hadn't properly kissed since their wedding and she was always toeing the line, wondering if he would be angered by her signs of affection however staged they were.

At the end of the evening, he did something he had never done and dismissed her before him. "I have to talk to King, I'll be home soon." He kissed her hand in front of all their peers and helped her in to her coat.

"What an evening." King had a fireplace in his office to rivall Severus'. They sat there in silent camaraderie before Severus jumped right in to his business.

"How long does Hermionie have King?"

Without blinking an eye, Shacklebolt answered this out of context question. "One more month, then she is under the jurisdiction of the law."

He had aged considerably but Severus hadn't noticed until now. The fire lit up all of the wrinkles on his face, around his eyes and mouth. For once Severus saw him as the threat he really was. How could he force this young girl to throw her life away? How could he force her to make such a big decision?

"What happens?"

"Sev-"

"What happens King?"

"She goes to jail." His shoulders heaved under the weight of his own words. "It's the law."

"And I?"

"Nothing happens to you. You go on living life the way you were."

"While my wife is in jail?"

Shacklebolt stood erect again, bearing his entire height. He was only a little bit taller than Severus but he seemed to tower.

"I know you married her to save her Severus. I know you and I know her. You married her to protect her. You'll go in living your life after she's gone." Severus raised himself to his own height and looked this man straight in the eye, the only man he had really considered an equal and a friend.

"She will not be going to jail."

The Professor stormed out of the study in lit rage. The threats from the Minister himself were enlightening and Severus saw now what exactly she had been running from this whole time, the kind of unbending terror.

"Don't be unreasonable." His friend called after him before the heavy oak door thudded behind him. There was nothing, he felt, left he could do.

When he returned home, she was tucked away in her room, probably fast asleep.

"Damn, damn, DAMN!" He growled. What was he to do now? Save her honour or his? Condemn them both? He imagined Hermionie in the throes of passion, and then of childbirth. It was insubstantial at this point. He felt undressed suddenly, in the biggest crowd that ever was and pulled his coat closer around him.

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It wasn't that he had to tell her. She knew already. They both knew already. It was that he would finally have to acknowledge it.

The snow was a permanent fixture on the grounds of Severus' estate. Christmas was approaching and the Holidays always reminded him of free time and breathing space.

His mother however, decided that the holidays would come to mean something a kin to being lit on fire this year as she announced her decision to stay at his house for the week. He would have to talk to Hermionie before all of that, and not after it was too late.

He served her the tea he knew she liked, the one with the floating lavender petals and let her grow accustomed to the tone in the room before beginning. It was a stall tactic if anything but he needed just the few minutes if he could have them.

"We're going to – We have to…" he sighed and took a sip of his own tea. He wasn't going to admit that the lavender petals made the tea more charming or interesting.

"It's the law." She said finally. His husbandly obligations to her were the law. Her young eagerness to have life's fortunes supplemented her wanting to fill the obligations she had to him. It didn't matter that he was who he was, or he did the things he did. He was her husband, and the nameless and faceless romanticism shielded her from anything else.

"Blast." He muttered loud enough for her to hear. "Come here."

She hesitantly got up and stood in front of his arm chair.

There had been nothing in his life that felt as wrong as putting his hands on her forearms. Nothing of so sudden disdain than standing with her and kissing her for the first time.

Without thought, her mouth responded to his and with too much thought he pushed her away to make some space.

He rested the silence between them and reached for her mouth again trying to come to terms. She succumbed easily enough, offering more than he asked for but taking no shame in his denial. It had been a long time since he had been in any kind of romantic relationship. He'd slept with woman to keep face or for momentary pleasure. Some twisted satisfaction. But this was painfully acute.

She came closer, hoping to create more intimacy and he allowed her to rest her body against his. It wasn't totally unwelcome, if anything it made the act more believable.

"Is this it?" she whispered in to his mouth, a deep languid sigh escaping with the question. She was starving for affection, grovelling for approval.

"No." he answered and pulled away again. "But it is a start."

The silence between them now was ignorantly loud. He hated that it came to this, all the dally and the hum drum of their acquaintances. She sat back down without argument and took after her tea again, swishing the petals around in her cup and producing a thicker more purple water base. Her toes dangled and hovered just above the carpet, a seeming reminder of her innocence. She was wearing those fluffy pink obnoxious socks.

"Stop wearing those socks." He wanted to assert control again, to make everything feel less equal. She looked down at her pointed toes and shrugged in to her mug.

"They're warm."

"They're ridiculous. My colleagues will think I'm married to a four year old." He crossed one leg over the other as was his custom and tried to understand his own reasoning for berating the girl.

"Bloody hell." He muttered as he imagined her straddling him in only those pink socks. She looked up at his unintentional exasperation but he offered no explanation. He was a man after all. He was allowed to imagine these kinds of things. Why did he have to try and justify it? Or quantify it?

He excused himself and promptly relieved his mind and body of its anguish.


	11. Chapter 11

His mother refused to eat in the same room as Hermionie. She refused to take her tea in the same room as Hermionie. His mother refused, in all of her senile grandeur to have any relations with the girl and when she did, they were overly nasty, brutish and short.

It was tantalizingly easy to let his mother have her way in all things. And for the most part he did. Hermionie had her meals at separate times and in different parts of the house, usually in the kitchen. He thought the girl probably preferred it any way to the calculated talk between him and his matriarch. It did him some good too, to get her and their situation off his mind.

It wasn't until Christmas Eve that Severus put his foot down for the first time.

"I don't want her coming Severus." His mother thumped her cane on the carpet insistently. "She's a bother to look at and I'd like a nice evening."

"She is my wife, mother." Severus drawled as they waited for Hermionie in the foyer. It was a ministry social, another to pass the time, to while away money.

"I am your mother."

"She's coming." He had already been too neglectful of her already.

Hermionie came down quietly, dressed in a holiday appropriate dress she must have gotten from town. She had found a fancy for buying things and Severus didn't mind at all if it kept her busy. She was good for wearing the right thing and he would gladly foot the bill if it made her happy.

"Even the ugliest ducklings can be appealing in the right light." His mother muttered and Hermionie tried to bite her tongue.

"Mother." The professor warned as he took either woman on each of his arms and lead them to the fireplace.

"You're disgracing us all."

It was Madam Prince who was on Severus Snape's arm all night as Mrs. Snape toddled behind, refilling her champagne glass when she had the chance and trying to find old school chums. It was an older set of people tonight, a set of people who didn't have young families or the joy of Christmas that comes with having children. The people present tonight had no children, or rather had children well past the age of festive excitement.

And Severus Snape was here with his bride, on the brink of having his own child. The thought was absurdly exciting.

He tried to divide his attention equally. It would not do to have either of them upset with him, and he knew the behaviour his mother administered towards his wife was uncalled for if not powered by maternal bias. His mother on the other hand, was full of disillusions and ill will and peppered the conversations she had with everyone with biting remarks and stinging observances that to the person engaged with her could not see. Hermionie was a monstrous spectacle to be witnessed from the inside, like a heart of darkness only the bravest travellers could attest to.

"Mother that is quite enough." Severus muttered as he took his mother's napkin and placed it in her lap.

"I'm quite capable of tending to myself Severus." His mother stated, raising her chin to a godly level and washing neglect over him. He turned to Hermionie who was gazing down at her empty dinner plate. He had planned tenderness for tonight, to bestow on her, like in every public appearance they made, the attentions of a dedicated husband. But when he casually draped his arm around the back of her chair while she ate her dessert and he drank his coffee, he realized he hadn't premeditated the action but had simply done it out of nothing. He did it because he was her husband, had gotten used to the idea of it.

He danced with her, he wanted to dance with her and she was amenable to the situation. She folded so nicely and he wondered why he hadn't realized before.

There was a family history. A sinister liaison of politics and sex in the Prince household. It was more agreeable to marry someone that could be trusted and who had the fortune to buy the trust. Keeping money within the family was the priority. Some of the most prominent ministry office holders were from the Prince line, an unengaged knotted line of inbreeds.

He had been all too aware of this and all too much a part of it at some time, when he was still malleable. Betrothed to a woman he'd never met but whose life blood had been connected to his since his birth. It was all too clear why his mother expressed her upset now, now that her son had almost been in the realms of reason and had seemingly escaped by a bare thread in to the lap of madness.

But what of it all, he thought as he swept across the floor in his wife's timid arms. She tried to keep as much distance between them as she could, but some things were inevitable.

"Relax" he whispered.

 _Miss Granger, this" he held up the roll of parchment she had worked all night on "is unacceptable. It's illegible."_

 _She bit her bottom lip fighting the unfairness. He was sitting at his desk as casual as he could be while he dealt out blow after blow._

 _"_ _I expect better from you."_

 _"_ _I worked so hard on it Sir." He threw the parchment on his desk, dismissing her claims._

 _"_ _I don't give a damn Granger."_

 _She shuffled on the hard stone floor waiting for some explanation. The dungeons were particularly drafty today and she shivered despite herself. But he didn't give her an explanation. He had nothing more to say. He really didn't give a damn, at all. She hadn't met his standards but he wasn't going to give her any valuable feedback. He wrote her off._

 _"_ _Go."_

 _He started to tend to his own work again, leaving the essay there for her to take. But she was rooted to the spot, traumatized in to stillness. There was not one person who would give her the time of day, not even the man who was paid to do so._

 _He had aged considerably since she began school, tired and strung out. She knew nothing about him except what Harry would tell her. She knew he was a gifted potioneer and that he had a taste for single malt whiskey. He hadn't ever drunk in her presence but she saw the bottle sitting on his desk as an ornament, half full._

 _He was the last person she could expect any attentions from and this was the right conclusion to draw._

 _"_ _Get out." He muttered when he realized she was still there._

 _She grabbed the parchment, hoping he might have left some kind of comment behind to clarify. The paper didn't even have a grade._

 _Heavily, she left him alone eager to find solitude in the corner of her bedroom._

"Are you well Mrs. Snape?"

Tobbi vanished her cloak with a snap of his fingers and helped the young woman to the parlour where she was expected to make company for a little while longer.

She felt drained. The visit from her professor's mother had been heart breaking hard, she had never met anyone who detested her so much and had such a vast vocabulary of unkind words. Professor Snape hadn't been taking his mother too seriously, engaging her whims and serving dinner for the two of them alone. He'd stuck up for her a few times, but it seemed to be out of the basic human decency that everyone possesses in which he did so.

It was uncharacteristically weak of her to be so affected by this tiresome game. She had faced a far worse adversary than a batty old woman with confidence issues. But it was affecting her, and not because of any reaction Madam Prince had, but of all the reactions of Professor Snape.

"I'm fine Tobbi. Please send my tea to my room."

The house elf vanished without question.

"What a lovely evening, save for the company we were forced to keep." Madam Prince stated as she hobbled in to the room. Even on this festive occasion she wore black, and her tight chignon. Professor Snape helped her to the sitting area were tea was already being served.

"If you'll excuse me, Professor, Madam Prince, I'll be retiring now."

Severus Snape straightened to his full height.

"You will keep us company Madam." He stated and disregarded her again as he occupied himself with the tea service. He made sure her lavender tea was present and he poured her a cup.

"If it's all the same to you professor, I'm very tired."

"Impertinence!" Madam Prince grumbled finally acknowledging Hermionie. "How dare you disobey your husband!"

There was a moment, a space for Severus to poke in, to interject, a small patch of silence for him to mark upon but he did not.

"He doesn't own me." He stated simply, feeling the courage from the indignity and walking out of the room.

The Lavender tea was sitting near the fireplace. Feeling the tingling thrill of finally being alone, she rested herself in the corner of the room farthest from the window and meshed herself in to the fold.

"I expect better from you Hermionie."

She closed her eyes as her teacher walked in to her room and found her in the corner. "You put mother off her tea."

Hermionie closed her eyes, willing him away. But with every hope, he took a step closer.

"Please, just leave me be."

He stood just in front of her, literally trapping her where she stood.

"We can't control the tastes in our mouths Miss Granger."

"Just… go."

He took her wrist and pulled her out of the corner, in to the open space of the room.

"You do not tell me what to do young lady."

"I just want to be alone-"

"I am very sorry for my mother's behaviour. It is really inexcusable but-"

"Don't-"

"Quiet. You are in a marriage now. I call for more maturity on your part."

She was being belittled again.

"I need to be mature?" her voice reached a high pitch tone in a matter of no time as her impatience hit a crescendo. "You've been ignoring me for the past week! Allowing your mother to berate me and call me hurtful names! How dare you!"

The feeling in her stomach had pushed up in to her head and forced the welling tears to fall.

"I'm married to a man who hates me!"

"That is quite enough!"

"No! Admit it Sir! You can't even tolerate me. This has been worse than being on the run!"

He was indecently close in a matter of seconds, face to face with his chest, he towered over her with intimidation that sored even higher. His hands were around her arms and he grasped her roughly.

"That is enough."

She had quite a bit more to say on the subject, on several subjects actually but what was the use? Her complaints were falling on his deaf ears, he could care less. If she couldn't get sympathy out of him she would get a small ounce of comfort at the very least.

"Stop crying." He muttered as he allowed her to lay her head on the front of his suit.

This was completely unorthodox. But she was blubbering and inconsolable. And she needed someone. And who else did she have, he thought, but himself. It was an rectifiable situation.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, like he had when they first kissed, and pulled her closer to him.

"I'll offer you any kindness I can." He said, too loudly for the moment and she was brought back to the reality of her marriage.

"I want to be alone."

"We are alone." He let her go and put his hands in his pocket trousers to avoid the awkward decision of where to rest them. She in turn threw herself dramatically on the bed in an attempt to escape this roundabout conversation. Her gown was a wrinkled mess by now, and her updo had become undone. There was a feral look in her eyes that he was admiring though and he didn't want to leave her just yet.

"Have tea with me." He gestured towards the tea service untouched. It was the last thing she wanted, but was unsure how to deny him.

She felt like a child being consoled after a petty fall out or a scraped knee. He tended to her with an overdramatic flare, exaggerated gestures that suggested a show. The insincerity angered even further but she held her tongue, unsure if he could keep his for very much longer under her duress.

"The Lavender tea, as you like it." He stated as he prepared her cup and handed it to her. "Come." He patted the space beside him but she sat down on the floor away from him, towards the calm of the fireplace. He said nothing at this and did not attempt to engage her on any other level.

"Hermionie," he said after a long while, sweeping away the crumbs from his biscuits. "My mother will be leaving tomorrow for Prince House." She did not turn around. "Perhaps we can spend the evening together tomorrow."

He gauged her reaction, but there was none to be had. The girl was in a frightfully hard headed state.

"Miss Granger?"

Instinct turned her head.

"Is that agreeable?"

"I have nothing better planned." She had stains on her face from the earlier tears.

"I'll expect your company then."


	12. Chapter 12

It felt as if last night had made things go backwards, farther back than any point in time of their present or past relationship. It seemed to Hermionie, that she felt more self-conscious, more intimidated than she had ever felt with this man and they would never, ever go forward in any capacity ever again. But he expected her this evening. He expected to spend time with her. He had never cordially invited her to spend their leisure time together. She showed up at meals when she wanted, finding him in the dining room or in his study. She crossed his path occasionally in the hall way or in the kitchen, or she saw the opportunity to make small talk with him when she saw him in the study or the parlour reading his paper. But he had never imposed on her to ask for her time.

He was in his study when the allotted time of their meeting came about. She had avoided him all day just to prepare for this moment. She wasn't sure what he wanted. He couldn't just want to spend time with her, there had to be something else, something more pressing. But whatever it was, he looked unprepared for a fight and had left his guard down tonight for her.

"Professor?"

"Come in." he gestured to the sitting area and joined her. "Here." He poured her a stiff drink which she took if not to have something to focus on. Luckily, he did not leave the silence there.

"We aren't getting any closer." He said matter-of-factly. He was looking in to the fire, apparently abundantly self-aware as well. "I will not deny this anymore, and I will not deny you any longer. Either " he took a deep sigh. "either our pairing was meant to be and time will see this prophesized or we will always be two strangers. But either way, we are husband and wife and we must share our bed."

The cold draft in the room gripped her and she pulled her sweater tightly around her neck. She had worn those pink socks of hers just to spite him but now she felt grossly premature.

"Hermionie, the sooner we get it over with, the better it will be. Dancing around the topic will only make things more difficult."

She nodded. She understood that. She had never been intimate with a man, but she imagined it took far more trust and understanding than she had with her husband now.

"You're right." She said finally, shrugging. It was an undignified shrug, a careless gesture but what could she do? She had no choice. "When?"

"Right now?"

"What?"

"Hermionie, like I said-"

"I know what you said. I heard you!"

"Madam, I would prefer if you kept your voice down." He stated softly.

It all tasted sour. It felt like this was only the same situation she had always been in. She would have to do something she didn't want to, for the sake of someone else. But then, he was in the exact same situation as her, willing to give himself to her so that she could be free. How wonderful it had been to use her wand again, to sleep in a bed, to have food and someone, even if it was her old Professor, looking out for her.

"Here?"

"Come now. Of course not."

It was an awkward set of affairs being led to her bedroom. She assumed they would go to his but perhaps he thought she would be more comfortable in her own surroundings. She desperately tried to remember anything and everything she had learnt growing up about sex, about how to make it better, but she had no experience, or at least very little, and she couldn't believe Professor Snape would try his best to pleasure her let alone allow her to practice pleasuring him.

He closed the door behind himself and stood with his hands in his pant trousers. He could see the nerves etched in to her face and was prepared to put it all off for another day.

"Now what?" she asked, more to fill the silence than to learn the answer.

He kissed her, timidly, not like before. He didn't pull away, didn't try to put any space between them. Space would not do. Not now. So he pulled her even closer, by the small of her back.

She had enjoyed the kiss they shared before, not ready to admit that even to herself. She liked how he smelt, distinguished and well read. It was a silly thing to say, but it was honesty. He was taller than her so it took courage to clamber tall enough to reach him, but he lowered himself just enough that she could if she tried.

In their intimacy and drugged by its contents, it was easy for both of them to forget the other in any way but this. The simplicities of their arguments, the complexities of their relationship, dwindled at his fingertips.

"Please tell me to stop if you need to." He muttered in to her mouth. She nodded. He could taste the inexperience in her kiss. She was young and naïve and unversed, but it was endearing. He guided her mouth and showed her what to do. She cautiously put her arms around his waist, hoping she didn't push any unspoken boundaries.

The tell-tale signs of arousal were clear to him though and he pressed himself in to her in his natural declaration of acceptance. She squeaked at first and pulled away but he pulled her in again, forcing her to grow acquainted to his body.

"Professor.." she was muffled by his demand of her.

"Don't call me that." He whispered back.

It was an awkward experience at the surface. She was not sophisticated or practiced. Her sweater got caught over her head and she took a few minutes to gain enough courage to pull her shirt over too.

She had a young body, he admired. Her breasts were only handfuls but they were enticing though he took no liberties. Her stomach was flat and smooth. Every inch of her was smooth from what he could tell. He was shamefully brought to attention very quickly though painfully aware of her perusal of his body.

He didn't need to give her an explanation, he didn't owe her one. His body, though toned for his age, had seen a life of hardships and defeats. He had scars from curses, from physical altercations and submissions, from age. But despite it all, he was not ashamed of his body. And his wife could not be either.

He unbuttoned his own shirt as she stood unsure before him in her bra and jeans and her pink socks. She timidly started with the socks, flicking them off to the side. He wanted to tell her to leave them on, to fulfill a fantasy he had been replaying in his head but figured the request much too flirtatious for the circumstances.

If anything, the fear in her eyes made him unsure about something he had done so many times before. His fingers fumbled only slightly as he finished undoing his shirt and took it off. He felt he had to say something, anything to make her look less afraid of this and of him.

"We can stop…" he suggested. She shook her head and took a step closer to him.

"No. I – I can do this."

He unbuttoned her pants for her and she took them off disallowing him the intimacies of undressing her.

He kissed her again to keep her mind off things, slowly leading her to her own bed and letting her fall silently before him. He undressed the rest of himself as she undressed the rest of herself and they met very plainly in the middle.

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes."

With the right enchantment, it was easy to ease in to her, to make it less painful for her and to shorten the fumbling tediousness of a first time. He pulled in and out cautiously at first, trying to focus on everything all at once but to ignore the feeling of the young girl around him. She was a delightful surprise, a wonderful mixture of pleasure and comfort and it was only too easy to forget she was his student, that she had ever been something than a lover to him. She let her hands fall on his shoulders for support but she kept her face to the side and her eyes shut. She didn't express any discomfort, but it was easy to tell she wasn't experiencing rapturous pleasure either.

He came too quickly, in a gust of wind that swept her back as she felt for the first time a man, overcome with desire for her that he pulsed inside. He had willed himself to overcompensate for her lack of experience and here he was finishing like a prepubescent boy. He heaved his breath, trying to come to terms with the pleasure but distracted by its outcome, Hermionie unsure and to a degree unaware of his predicament as she lay beneath him. Her thighs were still wrapped around his body for support and her body clung to his with the slickness of his sweat.

He peeled away from her and sat unsurely on the bed as the evidence of his arousal slicked her thighs. She looked desperately shy.

"Let me help you." He stated as he cleaned away the mess with a silent cleaning charm.

She quickly tried to cover herself, she had left her bra on in all the scuffle, but he settled her back down slowly, and in an act of purely husband intent, he started to try and calm his wife enough so he could pleasure her as well. He would never suppose to ask her, he knew the answer he got would be short and completely uncertain and so he ascertained what she would like from the way she stopped fussing and closed her eyes.

His breath in her ear, his hands in the most intimate places she had, the feeling of his chest on her back as he spooned her was all so calming and all too intense. He held her hand in his free one and she decided that she would give in to him just this once.

"Everything will be alright." He said behind her. His hands explored a vast territory of unbridled nerves and untouched gold. His experience with women had all been experiences unlike this one. Too soon, she was also coming apart in her husband's arms. Unable to see her face, he felt her convulse around his fingers, trusting him more than any man she had ever trusted before.

As they lay there, his hands smelling of her arousal, he was brought back to a sudden reality. Should he leave her? Should he excuse himself for her comfort? He felt at the moment an inexplicable new bond with the chit, and he felt entirely in character to rest there, if even for an hour or so with him at her side. But she was coming down from her climactic high as well, and it would not do to force her his company if she did not want for it. She rested her eyes for a few seconds, hoping maybe he would disappear but when she opened them again he was there.

"That was very nice. Thank you."

He couldn't help but laugh at the childish mannerism in which she concluded herself. And he couldn't help but chuckle out a welcoming response. It was enough of a declaration, in all its naivety that she welcomed his presence still longer. She pulled the blankets over them and though she did not attempt to nestle or engage herself with him, but rested near enough on her side that she could feel his heat.


	13. Chapter 13

"Take this." He handed her a small vase like object that stood on the mantle of his fireplace and she turned it around in her hands carefully. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape hadn't spent much time together since their coupling and neither spoke about the possibility of a repeated event, though Severus at least thought about it often despite his personal qualms.

"Professor, what is this?" she nestled the object in her arms, like a small baby and looked up at him. She had continued her old habit of calling him professor and though it annoyed him to no end, he didn't say so.

"It's a Pensieve."

"But I saw the one in-"

"Professor Dumbledore's was different from mine. They aren't all alike. This one's easier to handle, less dramatic." He stepped down from the small foot stool he used and took it back. He was being gruff with her, a far larger blow after everything now than before. It almost made her feel something akin to shame and she frequently folded her arms over her chest in his presence as unconscious preservation.

He looked at the old Pensieve in his hands. He'd fathered a number of terrible memories, the least of which would have plagued him senseless if he kept them all. It was easier to shelf them, easier to take them out than leave them to rot and pillage.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't concern yourself Madam."

She huffed and piled herself on to a couch nearby realizing that his opposition to her company was less lonely than sitting alone in her room.

As she watched him handling the Pensieve, she couldn't help but feel that familiar ache between her thighs again. Thinking back on the night he had held her in his arms like she was something important, and the feelings he had given her… She wanted more, she wanted that feeling again but she would never dare ask. It was very inconvenient. Seeing him grip his fork at meals, watching him write at his desk, hoping to gods he didn't notice the way she shifted her legs to keep a hold on her obvious wanting. It was sinister and she could do without it.

He was obviously pressed about something and her whimsical appetite would be certainly unwelcome. He wasn't here to satiate her. He did it once because he felt pity but he had started an addiction that couldn't be appeased in any other way. Between the bouts of shame and the bouts of desire, she wasn't sure what she saw in this man and if he were the enemy or her friend.

After the Pensieve, he took down the enchanted picture of himself and the Minister. They were smiling and shaking hands, it was odd to see her husband smile, but even odder to see such a formal handshake between such good friends. Despite its perplexing paradigm, he took the picture down and buried it face down in one of his drawers.

"Hermione, tell me about the band of Opps you were in?"

It was the first time he had ever asked about anything so serious, especially about her life before him.

"Well.. they were a band that formed very early in the opposition, I didn't know a lot of them, Luna was really the reason I was able to join in the first place…"

"Luna?"

"Luna Lovegood, from Ravenclaw."

"Luna Lovegood…" he remembered the blond girl he had tripped over in the fight, why she looked so familiar.

"It wasn't ideal. There were too many of us in the end, it was hard to move places, and we always had to keep moving." She had never gotten the opportunity to retell her experiences like this now, as an afterthought, and she was finding it hard to really explain the situation. "Sir, it was always cold. Always. We never had enough food, we had to do everything by hand – cooking, setting up camp, healing the wounded. We couldn't use our wands. Ever. Even with an unregistered wand, the Ministry could detect the magic. "

He paced the entire time, listening to what she had to say, probably the first person to actually ask and care.

"And you never considered marriage? Not with any of your school chums? Not with anyone else?"

She followed his pace as she sat in front of him and shook her head. "No Sir."

"I can't disassociate myself, from him."

For the first time, despite everything, there was a moment of understanding. That he understood her, and well enough now to admire her choices and his belonging to them. And he truly wished that he could fix all of this for her.

"I remember one time, we were sitting around the fire. It had taken us almost two hours to make it." She laughed softly at such a trivial hardship now, when she could snap her fingers and light the fireplace. "We were all talking about our Hogwarts days, they seemed so far away, so much more simple. Easier. We talked about everything… even you."

She was made bold by the seemingly torn down barrier between them. He listened.

"And I remember, despite all the things we talked about – friends, study hall, Quidditch, despite it all, when we talked about you, that was when I felt the ache to be back home."

She was trying, it seemed to make it up to him, to confirm that he had done the right thing for her, that even on an unconscious level, she had always associated him with safety and home. He was angered by her seemingly false confession, a toasty warm story to make them closer. But he said nothing.

"I mean, I remember that acid stingy smell in the dungeons that never went away, how the tables always smelt like pine… the way the pillars used to switch themselves almost suddenly and rearrange." He remembered these things too. "I remember all the flame retardant spells you had up. They were so thick sometimes I could walk through clouds of them."

"Well." He shrugged.

She split the silence between them. Split it in the middle and stepped through with a force that disturbed them both. But the words were barrelling out of her mouth before she could think to reconsider.

"Can you kiss me again?"

What a simple request from a wife to her husband. In truth, it had taken her a build up to brazenness she never thought she possessed, fuelled by the desire to confirm her safety here, with him. And when she asked, he automatically catalogued the request as inappropriate somehow, now that their need for intimate relationships could be prolonged until the next encounter.

Professor Severus Snape sighed instead. He wanted to, was disturbed by this very fact. But there was no point in pretending a connection for the sake of desire or false comfort. She would understand that eventually, when she found real comfort in someone else.

"I think it's time for sleep." He muttered and extinguished the fire. "Good night."

He left his blushing bride, ashamed and alone sitting on his settee.


	14. Chapter 14

The Opps: a formal recognition of the radical opposition to Kingsley Shacklebolt's government and Law C-13. They were portrayed in the media as dirty bandits, desperados, criminals on the loose. It wasn't an ideal situation, to escape the law in to the gripping hands of poverty. It was easy to show them as the low life riffraff of Wizarding Britain, the contemporary ghetto scum.

Hermione had joined one band – Fillipo Settlesnake's – at the very beginning, excited at the prospect of being a part of something bigger. It wasn't easy to join a band. They were always moving and they kept their numbers small to make finding food easier and to make travel simple. They left London in a group, two by two, the last bit of magic they would use for a while.

She was vouched for by one of her old acquaintances, that was how it usually worked, and she presented herself to Fillipo Settlesnake and showed all of the things she had to offer to the success and control of his band. He had been one of the first Opps, one of the very first to leave society and take for the freedom of banishment. She was excited to learn from him, to finally feel like she was doing something important again and Fillipo constantly encouraged those sentiments.

She fit in well, she had accumulated most of her skills during her time with Harry and Ron, searching for Horcruxes. It took some time to accustom herself to magicless preparations and camp site set up, but she thrived better there than she had at home and it seemed Fillipo noticed. He rewarded her with small things – extra berries, soap, warmer thread for her scarves or socks. The biggest treasures were usually books, books she used now to past the time instead of to learn from.

It had been months in to her involvement when Settlesnake called her in to his tent for the first time. She had never been inside, not even for their first interview. He insisted on putting up and taking down his own tent and she rarely ever saw anyone going in or coming out from his holdings. She hadn't wondered too much about it really. She understood how nice privacy was, especially because she rarely had it anymore and she never asked questions or wondered why he was so secretive.

It seemed to have no secrets. It was a plain grey tent, just like hers, perhaps a little bigger because he didn't share it with anyone else, with a sleeping bag pushed to the far end and his belongings in the other. He stood in the very middle, attentive, watching her as she looked around at the benign unfolding of his secrets. Allowing her a few more minutes just to look around…

He never penetrated her as he held her down. He forced his cock in to her mouth roughly, pulling on her sensitive scalp and choking her with his heavy burden. He never fucked her, he said after. He stripped her of all her clothes and covered her senselessly in raspberry jam. She hadn't had jam in so long, and the smell was so sweet and sickening at the same time. He put jam everywhere and inside her and licked her clean. He pulled on her breasts until they ached, until her nipples burnt. He lapped at her and cleaned her until she felt dirtier than before. But he never screwed her.

She left her tent and her tent mates without a word and washed herself in the river. Her skin was a sticky irritation. Pieces of ice had started to form and break apart around her. It had been an unforgiving fall. She used a sharp twig to clean under her nails until they bled and rested on the bank without any clothes. The band would move on, they wouldn't wait for her and part of that scared her. She had never worked alone, not ever. There were some things she could do, did them very well, better than others even. And there were some things she couldn't. There were a lot of things she couldn't do. Especially without her wand.

It would be months of alienation before she would find Luna and her band. Months of devastating hunger and debilitating frost. Her boots were wearing thin, her pants were wearing thin. Settlesnake had kept her pair of underwear and her pants constantly chaffed reminding her of what had happened.

Tucked under his ass, with his cock swinging in her face, Hermionie knew then that she wasn't what everyone said she had been. She was smart, she knew things, but what good was it now when she couldn't even escape. She remembered the way he smelt, the way he tasted and she would gag. It smelt like a failure. A Stale, nauseating failure.

In the dimmest glow from the apple orchard as the sun came up, Hermione could see from her husband's house the place where he saved her. It was the first time anyone had taken care of her for the sake of herself and not some higher purpose she might have. And that was why she stayed.


	15. Chapter 15

He settled the Pensieve in front of her and settled in to a discussion.

"I want you to take your memories and put them in here." He tapped the glass vase with the tip of his wand. Hermione imagined herself without any memories at all. How peculiar. She was only a shade of white that blended in to a background of the same color.

"All of them?"

"No Madam." He sighed. "The memories that… you would prefer to be rid of. The kind of memories you look upon daily. The kind that make you heavy."

She peered in to the opening of the vase and saw pearly liquid. She thought quite instantly to her dealing with Fill. He could naturally assume she had things to haunt her, anyone in the war would. But he had his suspicions that Hermione Granger was far more burdened than most.

"Hermione?" her husband pulled her out of her reverie. "Will you do this?"

"I…I've never tried before."

"I assure you, the memories will be in here, for your perusal." He sat forward. "You'll feel lighter, better."

"But… Sir, my memories are what make me who I am."

He said nothing.

"How?" she finally asked.

"Raise your wand to your head. Think of the memory and you will feel a pull. Submit to it. Your wand knows the rest."

He'd not known her for a fool. She'd been the most passable student in his class. But this mess in front of him was not that girl. He watched as she pointed her wand to her head and squeezed her eyes shut, sputtering as if forcing the memory out of her ears. Her wand pulled out a smoky haze, which disappeared almost instantly.

"Don't force it. Just remember what it was."

It was no use and she threw her wand down in mockery of his teaching techniques.

"Perhaps," he drawled "you don't want to let go. I can take it from you." He suggested.

She nodded quickly. That seemed much more agreeable.

He pointed his wand at her head and she remembered very clearly, Fill. Fill having his fill. Fill and the jam. Fill holding her down and then making her feel grateful that he hadn't raped her. The images seeped from her head as if being rewound. He was putting all the jam back with every swipe of his tongue, and then he was taking it off, getting on her and then off again. She was in the tent and then she was backing out of it. And then, it had never happened at all. There was an empty space where it had been and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite remember what "it" even was.

As Severus pulled his wand from her temple and tipped it in to the vase, he looked solemn. As if her burden had been transferred to him.

"I think that's enough for now." He whispered.

"Will I lose the memory all together?" she asked.

"The memory isn't gone." He stated pushing the Pensieve aside. "you can retrieve it if you want, but the entire memory will be fuzzy and it will no longer weigh on the forefront."

"What's the matter?"

Snape's face was ashen and crestfallen. But he shook his head and denied any such change in himself.

He poured her a cup of the lavender tea and allowed her to sit next to him near the fire. Occasionally he would put his hand on her leg and squeeze. She was reassured by the unconventionality of it and misinterpreted it for welcome intimacy. She nestled close enough for him to have no choice but to wrap his arm around her shoulders and she quietly sipped at her tea. She couldn't tell that he had seen the memory she had given up. His wand acted like a transmitter, a powerful tool of Legilimency that worked its best when the person was willing to part with the memory. He had seen and felt and smelled everything she had, all in those few moments. It was a part of his own memories now.

He tore silently through the replay, the tent, that man. The eagerness she had had to please him and the complete betrayal when she couldn't. As he bore down in to all of these new findings, Hermione sat unawares as to what might be happening. To her, the memory was gone, safely tucked away in the Pensieve and Severus knew nothing about it. If she had wanted him to know, she would have showed him the memory. He had known of course that whatever it was that she wanted out, if he took it from her he would see it. He had known he would be invading her privacy before he even suggested it but it hadn't stopped him. He'd believed whatever she had gone through, he had gone through or seen worse.

Remorse soon kicked at his door. This was a serious traumatic event and now he knew. What could he say? The girl couldn't remember it now anyway and if he brought it up, it would only bring an outlined shadow of her memory.

The chit dared to rest her head on his chest and he snapped out of his thoughts immediately. She was unsure, but she wanted this and now, how could he deny her even the smallest comforts he could provide? He settled his cold tea down and tentatively allowed her better access to his person.

"I'm sorry Hermione" he finally muttered as he absently wrapped his arm more assuredly around her.

She did not ask for what. It was inevitable that he would apologize for something at some time. It was only the tone in his voice, the balance between real remorse and genuine fatigue that caught her.

 _"_ _Take your time Granger." He muttered as he walked by her work station. She had been hurriedly chopping palm sprigs, hoping to be the first to finish and impress her potions master._

 _She slowed her motions and looked up for confirmation but Professor Snape was already walking away from her, unconcerned at her progress any longer. He looked sallow, like something was on the horizon, something terribly treacherous. He was now engaged with Harry, leaning over him, criticizing him and taking the time to point out all of his mistakes._

 _It was easy to let these small things get her down. The professors, perhaps unknowingly bestowed all of their spared energy and attentions for her best friend. It was a mock trial, a preparation, their way of contributing to the war effort but still tuck themselves away in this school. Professor Snape was no different. She noticed the way he looked at her and Ron and everyone else, and the way he looked at Harry. They were investing in the war hero, the boy who lived and the boy who would save them._

 _Without thinking, she had sliced her own palm instead of the sprigs and pulled out her wand to heal it. The blood flow was heavy and it was her wand hand she sliced open. The professor, never missing anything, came back to her and took a look at the blood now traveling down her wrist and into her sleeve._

 _"_ _You can handle this on your own Miss Granger."_


	16. Chapter 16

She looked healthier now that the memory was ridded from her conscious. Her face was fuller, she had a delicate color and she seemed to be more adamant about the things she wanted. She went outside and helped the elves with their daily chores, she sought Severus out more often for meals and seemed to entertain a healthy balance of silence and solitude.

Her presence was growing on him and it seemed as if she had always been a constant in his household.

He levelled himself in to his favourite arm chair and took the mail from his waiting attendant. He could hear some hammering outside, her girlish cries of uncertainty and laughter. It was starting to snow again, the mid-January weather making for lousy company and he mentally noted to request her return to the house soon.

He received few letters anymore. Some from King, some from his old colleagues, some from the Ministry, but all of these were few and far in between. So it surprised him to have in his hand, a letter stamped with his own family Sigil – the Cresting Crown of the Prince House, stamped in at the seal and his name and address written in sharp cursive on the front. Not his mother`s hand surely, for he would have recognized the woman`s regal but defined style.

He broke the seal and found the letter to be from the desk of a woman he had almost forgotten.

He had little interest in seeing whatever benign things she had to say but he read the letter to completion, not failing to dismiss the desperate tones in her desire to see his newest estate. He already knew he would have to entertain his oldest cousin, entangled to him by a second marriage and cemented to him in a broken engagement. His mother would insist upon it if she heard of his refusal – and she would. Isolde Prince was not known for her discretion but extremely well known for her vulgar obsession with his person.

He parted with the letter as he slipped it in to his shirt pocket, remembering to reply with haste. Hermione was inside now, chattering away with the elves, taking off her outerwear and cleaning up the snow she trailed in. When she caught him from the doorway of his study, she could read nothing in his expression save for his lethargic lidded eyes.

`Hello Professor.`

He stood from his chair and met her at the doorway, carefully stringing out snowflakes from her hair.

`You look well.`

"Ì feel very fine." she admitted quickly brushing out her hair.

"We will have a house guest in the next few days Hermione, one of my family members." He couldn`t help but smirk at the face she made, her first assumption that his mother would be joining them again so soon. "My cousin Isolde. She won`t be of any consequence to you, she will not bother the lady of the house." Hermione smiled at this new title, a small gesture on his part with significant bearing,

"Is she young?"

The professor led his wife to the dining room and settled her in the chair closest to him. "No, though she sometimes forgets this."

"Did you have a pleasant afternoon?" she asked as he served her by hand. Usually, it was the elves, but he felt especially indulgent today and scooped her share of mashed potato on her plate.

"Passable." he muttered, serving himself now. She watched as he did such, licking her lips unconsciously at the nimble fingers and strong grasp of his hands. "And you Madam…"

She thought about all of her activities of the day and couldn't help but let a post-climactic shiver run down her spine. The cold tile of the bathroom floor as she fingered herself the way he had done had been a satisfactory mingling of sensations. She was obsessed with the release to be honest so much so that she had almost rubbed herself raw.

He took no notice of her youthful whims though and did not wait for her reply.

He prattled on about an important ministry function coming up, how the expectation of their involvement was crucial, the need to plan even more so. It all seemed like an older man's mumbling thoughts, aired out for reassurance and she took her liberties. She paid his words little mind as she sipped at the dinner wine he had given her and flattened her potatoes around with her fork.

She had been injured by his denial of her, especially now when she had drawn so much courage to ask but his voice was undeniably soothing, and she held on to the sounds of it rather than the content it held within.

"Yes?"

She looked up suddenly and saw him watching her closely.

"Yes." She muttered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

"Good show."

He raised his wine glass to her and saluted her before taking a long drink.

Tobbi who had been standing far enough from the table to exclude himself as company but close enough to be called on for assistance, dismissed himself suddenly and came back with a thin, envelope which he handed to Severus without thought for his appetite.

"Tobbi, not now."

The elf battled a bit with the urgency of the letter and his master's command and finally croaked "But letter is being from Master Shacklebolt."

Hermione noticed the way her husband seized the letter then, glancing at his elf and then at her. She knew the Minister was giving the professor trouble for his involvement with her. It wasn't about him though, it was about her. He knew her professor had taken her in as a refuge, to protect her with his reprieves. She had been one of his biggest supporters after the fall of Voldemort, aiding in the campaigns and the electoral work and now, even now, she was his biggest adversary. And for this, she was bringing Professor Snape down with her.

He read through the letter, pulling back his chair from the dinner table, to gain a better perspective and frowned. The frown itself could have meant a number of varying degrees of discontent, but he made no accompanying noise.

He folded the paper, without an explanation, and put it into his already bulging shirt pocket,

"What was that?" she asked, the wine giving her a brazenness she rarely displayed with him. He regarded her for a second longer than she was comfortable with and then pulled his chair forward again towards his meal.

"We will never be on those kinds of terms Miss Granger-"

"Mrs. Snape." She reminded him with a brash headiness. He raised an eyebrow at her countenance and then sought after his meal.

"Regardless, you own no rights to know the content of my mail."

There was little else she could say.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The weekend brought an onslaught of change to Professor Snape's Estate. His distant cousin arrived shortly after noon. Hermione was not requested to greet her and she fared well with this, uncertain as to the opinions and attitudes of all his family members regarding Muggle born witches.

She was requested to have dinner with her husband and his relative however.

"Isolde" Severus said her name in a bored sort of tone and the figure in the study, looking down in to the enchanted fire, turned around very suddenly. It was likely her beauty that caught Hermione first, her golden honeyed hair and dazzling doe eyes. She wore an elegant dress fit more for a night at the theater than a dinner in, it's length reaching the ground – and yet seemingly appropriate.

Professor Snape took Hermione by the arm and offered her for scrutiny.

"This is your wife?"

Despite the familial bonds that tied Isolde and Severus together, Hermione couldn't help but feel like an intruder under this woman's demeaning gaze. She scrunched her nose in the loveliest way and acted as if derision was an attractive quality to behold. But in those eyes, was not the kind of hate Hermione had seen in her mother-in-law. It was not the sort of distaste that Madam Prince had donned, but rather a hurt jealousy. Hermione was just another obstacle here as she stood between the witch and wizard..

She schooled her face quickly and smiled brightly.

"Severus hasn't told me much about you but I'm sure you are very charming. I'm Isolde."

There was a pregnant pause, Hermione could feel her Professor's palm on her back, neither pushing her forward nor pulling her back.

"Shall we?" he asked offering his arm to the older woman and leaving Hermione to scurry behind.

"I see nothing has changed around here." Isolde said looking around. "Still dreary and drab."

"Your words are biting Isolde." He smiled and pulled a chair out for her while his wife took her regular seat on his left.

Isolde ignored Hermione throughout most of the meal, instead trying to tell funny stories to make the Professor chuckle in to his napkin. She succeeded flawlessly and the girl couldn't help but feel the jealousy rise to her face. It was made clear throughout the conversation that Isolde understood the kind of marriage Severus was in, and was more than happy to offer herself up as one of those libations Snape had suggested towards before their marriage became official.

Hermione scoured through tea, mushing her lavender leaves to the bottom until they made the water a deep almost black color and the leaves became pruned and mushy. Isolde had what seemed like a much more refined taste in tea, taking a steady and firm Scottish thistle with scalding hot water. It sounded so elegant.

"I really wish to stop berating you on your manners-"

"Then do."

She was huffing around her room, cleaning up things. He followed her in and sat in his usual bedside chair. It was the first time he had been in here since their marital coupling and the thought was clouding her anger.

"You were quiet all night."

"Why would you bring an ex-lover to this house?"

He bristled at her accusation, made so suddenly and with such demand. She however waited for his reason.

"Whoever I invite here is a guest, whether they are a lover or not."

"And I'm supposed to show respect to a woman who is sleeping with my husband?"

It was the first claim she had ever put on him, the wedding bands a mere symbol of their agreement. He paused for a moment, unsure where this conversation would go and whether it would go there no matter what he said.

"Yes."

"You arrogant-"

"Madam. Might I remind you that we never agreed on fidelity. You live here, want-free, I've made sure of that."

"Are you sleeping with her?"

He stood now, accustomed to this tone in her voice and yet affronted all the same.

"If you mean to make me feel guilty wife I assure you your efforts will go wasted. I have given enough of myself." His voice was dangerously low and if he wasn't inches away from her now, she might not have heard him. "I am."

He left without another word, softly closing the door behind himself.


	17. Chapter 17

He of course was not sleeping with the woman down the hall. It would be completely tactless of him to do so considering their past and their previous engagement. But the words had slipped out of his mouth with no thought at all when the girl confronted him, as if he would protest her defiant claim on him even with blatant lies.

And it had been a blatant lie. Though Isolde had made it perfectly clear her intention for visiting he had made it perfectly clear his aversion to her. They had been engaged once, a cousin acquired from marriage but engrained enough to possess the family's interest at heart and he had been inclined to marry her then. Then. But not now. Now he found her overly done and extremely unaware. Unaware of propriety, of her standing, of decorum and reality.

He removed his dinner jacket and tossed his pocket square on the bedside chair. He had combatted her childish attitudes with his own and now he felt foolish. She had obviously believed him, the look of fury on her face made that very clear.

But the demand she seemed to make of him, as if this wasn't anything more than a marriage of convenience, had angered him past reason. He had realized too late that so much was being demanded of him because he had been easily offering it. And now it was the same. Her expectations of him were ungrounded and it was best she realized this now.

Besides, they had bigger issues.

He thought about the letter he received at dinner before the arrival of Isolde. It had been post-dated substantially and obviously pre-meditated. It was from the desk of Kinglsey Shacklebolt, his letter head and signature original in its stamp.

He had sent a number of these kinds of letters over the years. They were drafts of his bills and laws which Shacklebolt believed Severus could give him advice about. Severus usually complied, drafting and researching until he could come to a supported and solid conclusion.

This time however, the draft came with a small note folded within it, the only part he dared read at the dinner table in front of Hermione. King's short hand still wet from the quill.

"Hermione Granger will be the first benefactor."

He'd pocketed the letter without reading anything else because he knew nothing good would come after a line like that. King had decided that he was trying to make a fool of him by marrying the girl and now it seemed he would test the professor's loyalties.

The draft had been worse than he thought possible.

He wanted to use captured female Opps as breeding cattle, as political examples of the ample authority the minister had over his enemies. Permitted a cell and inseminated in Azkaban. A cold dim sheen against his vision. He imagined Hermione in Azkaban, senselessly dishevelled, dirty, her hair ratty and knotted – dreaded, and year after year producing a child until her body gave in to age. Her breasts sagging in defeat, her stomach deformed, her hips never the same. He reminded himself that she was here, here because of some unknown act of kindness on his part, some will and control in his stance that would see her through.

He wondered if the Minister's urgent grievances were a show for Severus only, or if the world was as bad outside of his estate. He perhaps, like McGonagall had been blind to the real misfortunes going around because he had never seen them first hand. At the thought of the headmistress, his mind took a turn. Things hadn't been the same at the school since the death of Dumbledore, not under Severus' leadership for sure, and not under Minerva's. Perhaps Hermione could go back to school. She'd never finished her education and as a student, she would be once again exempt from any laws regarding her marriage obligations. He could go with her, teach again for the year. It had to be admitted, the thought of doing something as tangible as teaching again appealed to him.

But blast it, he'd never really liked it in the first place. It had been a job, and the easiest way to stay out of Voldemort's plans and remain in Dumbledore's. Without the added stress of a tyrant gone mad, it had seemed quite bland. Not to mention the mundane responsibilities like maintaining budgets and keeping strict health and safety standards. These things seemed even more stressed when children were involved…. Children who knew absolutely nothing. The idea of going back to Hogwarts seemed like a nightmare.

XXX

He pulled out the chair for his wife at breakfast the next day and she slumped in to it. Compared to Isolde, she looked tired and unhappy, unrested and dark. There was little to be said that early in the morning but Isolde found she could not stop talking to the Professor. If Hermione truly believed her husband was sleeping with this woman, Isolde was not giving any evidence to the contrary. It angered Hermione in an infuriating burn, like indigestion. Perhaps it wasn't so much that her husband was sleeping with anyone, but that he preferred to showcase his concubines at meals and around the house with little feeling for his wife.

This morning however, Severus did not seem as entertained by the wild chatting, had had quite a bit of it last night and had been prepared to take his breakfast quietly. He clutched at his knife and fork, knocking them loudly against his plate, never answering the woman and never encouraging her to speak at all.

"Professor, You'd never think how I responded to the invite from Dresden for Oshrat Prince's wedding. I simply couldn't bring myself, as a respectable woman to even think of showing myself there. And you know what the old cow said to me, well it was the silliest thing! She said-"

"Enough!" Hermione finally stated, encouraged.

Both Severus and Isolde looked at her in confusion, the latter recovering from the offense much sooner.

"I beg your pardon? You-you filthy-"

"She said _enough_ Isolde."

Isolde blanched quite easily under his gaze, quieting down and tending to her meal finally. Hermione stole a glance at him, sure she should have been berated for her abusive manner. But he wasn't looking at her, wasn't even upset anymore. They all quietly finished their meal and he excused himself and her quite in a rush.

"Mrs. Snape." He muttered. "May I see you to my study?"

This salutation seemed to upset Isolde finally and she protested.

"Severus, surely you'd like to take a walk-"

"No thank you Isolde. Perhaps you can apparate in to town for a bit, or rest. I'm sure you've exhausted yourself."

"Thank you." Hermione said as he led her in to his study and shut the door behind himself.

"Whatever for?" He tucked himself behind his desk.

"What do you wish to speak about Professor?"

He held up the letter from the previous night, the one that had been heavy on his mind, and handed it to her. She took it wearily, remembering he had said it was none of her business. But apparently it was. Very much so.

"They can't-"

"They will not."

"But, what shall I do?" she started to shift in her seat, on the throes of panic.

"No histrionics, please."

He steepled his fingers and gazed at her from across his desk. "I have no idea what kind of threat this is. I have no idea if he has any intention of going through with this or not. But what we both should fear is that he is being plain with us. "

"Why is he picking on me?"

"Because he knows we married as a ploy. " There was no other explanation. She started to fiddle with one of his writing quills, examining the dry celled tendrils of the feather in her lap.

"What do you make of it then?" she muttered.

He rubbed his eyes in frustration. Not at her, she was justified to be worried. And it looked like she was no longer thinking about his immature showcase from yesterday anymore. He was frustrated that things were once again, out of his control. That his life was being dictated by some power hungry political wrangler.

Like all of his ingenious plans thus far, the words came to him without hesitation or thought.

"We will return back to Hogwarts."


End file.
